


TAZ Amnesty Winter Fills (SFW)

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Flirting, Hannukah, M/M, Misunderstandings, OT4: Governement Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends, Polyamory, Prompt Fill, TAZ-Amnesty, Winter Aus, danbrey, indruck, local bear loves disaster moth, meet ugly, rating is for language, sternclay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21695092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: A selection of winter AU prompt fills, cross posted from Tumblr since I know not everyone has one.Prompts are from this list: https://thiswasinevitableid.tumblr.com/post/189399664515/thiswasinevitableid-veronicabunchwrites-100. They are currently still open.
Relationships: Barclay/Agent Stern (The Adventure Zone), Barclay/Indrid Cold/Duck Newton/Agent Stern, Dani/Aubrey Little, Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 16
Kudos: 114





	1. It's a Trap (Danbrey)

**Author's Note:**

> A reader requested #13: “my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and i’m so sorry “

This is a trap. 

Really, you’d think Aubrey would be better at spotting them by now. Her dad and step-mom have at least moved on to inviting people other than dudes to these things. But she could live without the “oh ho ho, this holiday celebration is also an attempt to set you up with someone because we’re worried you’re going to die alone surrounded by your fifteen pet rabbits.”

Not that the girl seated across from her at the table isn’t cute. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, her nose is dotted with freckles, and the smile she keeps sending Aubrey’s way is like sunshine and baby bunnies and a warm blanket on a cold day…

But it’s the principle of the thing!

“So, Dani, your parents weren’t able to come?” Aubrey asks.

“Um, I don’t think they were invited.”

“They were” her stepmom interjects, “but they were unable to come. I saw Michelle at work and she was very apologetic.”

“O-kay.” Dani glances at back at Aubrey, “either way, it’s really nice to be able to spend Thanksgiving with people.” 

“Even if it’s celebration of colonialism and an erasure of the harm inflicted on indigenous populations.” Aubrey mutters.

“Don’t forget a holiday designed to reinforce notions of a certain kind of domesticity and respectability.” Dani adds. Her father groans at the head of the table, but Aubrey is too busy focusing all her attention on the woman across from her. 

“And yet another holiday where it’s impossible to get decent vegetarian options.”

“And the start of a season focused on consumerism.”

“God, I used to work retail and it was the worst.” Aubrey rolls her eyes.

“Man, I know the feeling…”

At the head of the table, Aubrey’s dad and stepmom exchange a look. 

——————————

“So, did you know this was a set-up?” Dani tightropes along a planter box, green beanie on her head a defense against the gently falling snow.

“Yeah, I’m super sorry. They’ve been inviting people over to try and get me to date them for, like, almost a year.”

“Jeez.”

“I’d kinda hoped they were starting to chill out about it. Apparently not. Uh, that is” she kicks the toe of her black boot at a lump of snow, “I’m still glad I got to meet you. You’re uh, you’re really cool. But I wish we’d gotten to meet some time when you hadn’t been, like, tricked into dinner.”

“To be honest, it wasn’t much of a trick. My mom was pretty sure your stepmom was gunning to set us up, so we figured that’s what this was. Apparently she keeps talking about you and how you’re single.”

“Uggggggh.” Aubrey thwaps her head into her hands, red wool gloves scratching her skin, “Wait, if you knew it was gonna be an awkward trap dinner, why did you come?”

Dani hops down onto the garden path to face her, “Um, because I learned you’re a punk rock magician with a super-cute bunny? You sounded really cool and I wanted to meet you.”

“Oh.” Aubrey squeaks. 

“Buuuut” Dani steps closer, adjusts the front of Aubrey’s jacket, straightening a few of her pins, “if you’re not interested, I totally get it.”

“No! I mean, uh, yes, I mean uh…meep.” Aubrey covers her mouth to keep anything more embarrassing from slipping out. 

“I had a lot of fun talking with you tonight, Aubrey. I’d really, really like to get to know you even more.”

“I’d like that too. It’s just kinda weird that my family’s set-up worked. I’m worried it might encourage them to, like, try to trap me into a career change via a fluffy bunny or a cute girl or something.”

“So I shouldn’t say that you’re the prettiest thing in this whole huge garden?”

Aubrey’s cheeks are so warm they must be steaming.

“And I’m a botany student; I know from pretty things in gardens.” Dani strokes her cheek.

“Eeeeeeh.” Aubrey grabs her hands excitedly.

From the house, someone calls them in for dessert. 

“Should we, um, do you wanna go back up?” She asks shyly.

“Just one more thing” Dani leans in and kisses her, soft and warm and for not nearly long enough, “okay now we can go.”

Aubrey giggles, kisses her once more, and then they hurry hand in hand back up to the warm lights of the house.


	2. Out of Nowhere (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i really love the way you write meet-uglies/meet-cutes so,, "i’m having a snowball fight with my friend in the park and i hit you instead" prompt w indruck?

Indrid is slowly, begrudgingly, starting to enjoy winter. 

After all, the lake is pretty when it’s frozen, and it’s fun to see the whole neighborhood out and about in the fresh snowfall, early enough in the winter that snow is still a joyful thing rather than the unwelcome phenomenon it becomes around March. 

Also, the coffee shop around the corner just started selling eggnog lattes, which are the pinnacle of seasonal beverages. Which is why he’s strolling along the lake, drink in hand, thinking about how nice it will be to curl up with his sketchbook in his little apartment that’s all his. Just him and the cat. Alone. 

And those thoughts are why he doesn’t see it coming.

Something cold collides with his face, and he loses his balance, slipping on the icy ground and tumbling back into the snowy lawn, sending his drink down his front.

“Oh shit!” 

“Oh man, bad luck dude!”

“Duck Newton, that was not the intended target!”

Snow crunches by his ears as he sits up, dazed and nutmeg-scented, eyes still stinging.

“I’m so, so fuckin sorry man, I was aimin’ for my friend, didn’t mean to hit you, fuck, uh, lemme see your eye.” 

His red glasses come off, and he blinks in bright winter light. 

A pair of mis-matched eyes look over his face, shining with worry. Faded blue dye in dark hair frames a soft face, and gloved hand, still chilly with snow, touches his cheek. He winces when a finger traces below his eye.

“Aw, fuck, I gave you a black eye.”

“Goodness, I didn’t think someone could throw a snowball that hard.”

“Got kinda a knack for it, I guess.” The man, Duck, scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Yes, well” he’s trying so hard not to be upset. He’s trying so hard to hold on to his positivity, “I would have preferred not to be on the receiving end of ow, ow.” His whole body hurts as he stands. Duck braces him.

“Shit, oh man, I made you spill your drink too. Um, fuck” he looks helplessly in the direction of the friends he was, presumably, trying to hit with a snowball instead. One friend, a young woman with fiery streaks in her black her, mouths something his way. 

“Can I buy you a new one to, uh make up for it?”

“No, it’s, it’s fine. I ought to go home and ice my eye. And change. Ow.”

“Do you want me to walk back with you? You ain’t lookin too steady.”

“I wonder why.” He mutters.

“Sorry.” Duck mumbles. 

Indrid looks him up and down; he’s built in a sturdy way (Indrid can hear his mother in his head uttering the words, “husky”), and it would be safer than walking home on sore, unsteady legs and falling again.

“Very well, I suppose you can help me get home. It’s not far.”

The man slouches with relief, and offers Indrid his arm. 

—————————————-

He feels better after a bath (alright, so it’s a large washtub that he shoves in his shower and then sits in, but it does the trick). Dries his hair, wraps himself in a fluffy pink and yellow bathrobe and nestles down into his chair to draw. Taco blinks sleepily at him from the nearby heater vent, and he scritches his ears. 

There’s a knock on the door. That’s odd, given that he’s not expecting anyone. He opens it to find the man from earlier, wearing slightly fewer layers and holding a carrier with two to-go cups and a small bag. 

“Uh, hey again.”

“Hello.” Indrid responds, flatly.

“Got you an eggnog latte.” He holds out one cup. 

“How did-”

“Aubrey, my friend, looked at the cup after you dropped it.”

“Ah, of course, thank you.” 

Duck hesitates, then offers him the bag, “can’t have a drink without somethin to eat. Weren’t sure what you’d like, so got a few different things from the pastry case.” A blush creeps up his cheeks, from the heater no doubt.

“They aren’t exaggerating when they say southern boys have good manners.” Indrid smirks.

“Tend to come out more when we’re feelin guilty.”

“Duck, it was an accident. And you’ve more than apologized.” He shudders as a gust of cold air rushes up from the downstairs hall, “would you like to come in?”

“Uhhhh no, uh, fuck, uh, I mean, fuck. Yes.”

“Oh good. It would be nice to share these with someone.” He steps aside so Duck can enter the apartment. As he gets down plates, Taco sidles over to give their visitor a cursory head-bump, followed by a demand for back scratches while he sips his coffee. 

“Do you have pets?” He takes a large sugar cookie from the bag, while Duck helps himself to an apple scone. 

“Yeah, got a cat too. Not near as sleek as this fella though, mine’s a big fuckin fluffball. Gonna start usin her to insulate the front door and keep the draft out.”

Indrid chuckles at the image, and Duck grins. 

“So, uh, you in town for school?’

“No, actually. I’m finishing up an apprenticeship at Rag and Bone downtown.”

“No shit, you’re a tattoo artist?”

“Soon to be, yes.”

“That’s so fuckin cool! I got this one done there when I first moved to town.” He rolls his sleeve up to reveal a line drawing of a pine tree in deep green ink.

“Oooh” This is familiar territory for Indrid, and welcome as well; he likes seeing other artists’ work, and learning the stories behind people’s tattoos. 

“Got another on my bicep, a succulent. Ironically enough, got it before I started workin’ at Green Thumb.”

“That’s where I’ve seen you!” Indrid slaps the table, “I come in after work sometimes. And usually resist the urge to add another plant to my, ah, collection.” He nods at his sickly houseplants on the nearby shelf. 

“I can take a look at those for you, bettin they’re salvageable. Most of those ones are pretty hard to kill.”

“So people say. Bear in mind, I have killed not one, but two, airplants.”

“Jesus,” Duck giggles, “how?”

And so Indrid regales him with the story of his ill-fated air-plants that went brittle no matter where in the house he put them. Which leads to Duck getting the surviving houseplants down and examining them, before showing Indrid where to place them so they’ll thrive. And as Indrid is lifting one onto the bookshelf, his cuff slides up and Duck asks about his rosy maple moth tattoo. So Indrid tells him, and once their coffees are done he makes them tea as Duck asks about how he got into this line of work. 

Then, it only seems natural that Duck offer to order pizza while they swap stories about growing up gay in small towns, and then eat while heckling a “documentary” about Bigfoot (“Black bears, you saw a black bear! Lord Christ almighty how do people forget there’s bears in those woods that walk on two feet?”)

“Damn, how many tattoos do you have?” Duck says, spotting the black rabbit on Indrid’s chest when his bathrobe slips to the side.

“Six.”

Duck counts on his fingers, looking at each in turn, “where’s number six?”

“It’s, ah, it’s on my thigh.”

“Oh” Duck turns bright red, “uh, you don’t got to share it if you don’t want to.”

“I can, if you’re alright with it.” Indrid pulls one side of his robe up until the stylized ouroboros is visible. 

“Damn, the colors on that are amazin’” Duck traces a finger along the snake’s body. Indrid gasps, softly, and Duck pulls back, “fuck, sorry, shoulda asked first.”

“I don’t mind. It felt rather nice.”

Duck’s eyes flick quickly to Indrids, then down to the tattoo. Cautiously, he reaches out and traces it again in slow, steady circles. 

“I oughta be headin out soon, need to feed Winnie and get my lunch ready for tomorrow.” He says, making no move to stand.

“Would you like to come back? Tomorrow, I mean.” Indrid taps his nail on the side of his mug.

“Yeah” Duck looks up at him with a rather more mischievous smile than before, “yeah I would.”

He leans in, lifts Indrids glasses up, and plants the softest kiss on record to the bruise below his eye. 

Then he stands, grabbing his coat and slipping on his boots, Indrid staring all the while with a dreamy smile. 

Duck winks to him as he steps out the door, “see you tomorrow.” He blows a kiss, and heads out into the snowy night.


	3. Christmas Spirit (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your scream woke up the entire building because you’re so damn excited about the snow and I’m going to give you a piece of my mind except you’re really cute."

“WOOO HELL FUCKIN YEAH!”

Indrid falls out of bed, cursing before he even hits the floor. Scrambling to the window, he’s not at all surprised at what he sees. His roommate or, rather, housemate, standing out in the snowfall with his arms out, smiling at the sky. He’s only wearing pajama pants and his ugly Christmas sweater.

If he catches a cold, Indrid is going to lose it. They’re already the only two remaining housemates left, and Duck, usually charmingly calm, has lost his damn mind with Christmas fever. Duck being sick would mean Indrid will get no respite from carols, decorating, and the other man asking his opinion on different gifts. 

He tosses on an oversized sweater, steps into his rainboots, and tromps outside, muttering a dozen, rather unkind fantasies about what he’ll do if Duck doesn’t come inside (and a few lurid ones as well; he’s well past the point of pretending Duck, with his strong arms a soft belly, his fondness for gently teasing Indrid, the little idiosyncrasies he only let’s Indrid glimpse, doesn’t light his heart up like the scraggly Christmas tree in the living room).

“Duck, what in the world has gotten into you?”

The shorter man turns, breathless smile painting his face, snow dusting his dark hair, and Indrid struggles to remain annoyed with him. 

“Hey, ‘Drid! Uh, oh” his brow furrows, “trouble sleepin again?”

“Yes, actually. But that’s not the problem. The problem is you are standing here, yelling, in the middle of the night, and scared me so badly I fell out of bed.”

“Shit, sorry.” Duck smiles, “but, look at it ‘Drid. It’s the first snowfall. It’s fuckin gorgeous.”

“Duck, I moved to the desert specifically to avoid the cold.”

“It ain’t just cold. It makes everythin look peaceful, like nothin bad is ever gonna happen. And you know, can’t have Christmas without snow.” He spins around gazing at the sky like the hero in a hallmark movie. 

“Ah, I see. This is yet another part of the tinsel covered madness that you’ve been under.”

“Huh?”

“Have you honestly not noticed? Duck, ever since the day after Thanksgiving, you’ve been a walking, talking Christmas decoration.”

“So, I like the holiday?” Duck shrugs.

“There’s liking the holiday and then there is subjecting me to a month long parade of cheer!”

Duck looks stunned.

“That’s how you feel about it?”

“It’s. Obnoxious.” Indrid doesn’t mean to snarl. It’s not Duck’s fault. Not really. 

Duck glares, “Jeez, I’m just tryin to enjoy myself. I ain’t goin out of my way to torment you.”

“How is singing carols off key while doing the dishes not tormenting me?”

“You could just tell me to stop.”

“Then you’ll call me a grinch, or some other unimaginative term for someone who doesn’t want to be covered in red and green vomit.” Indrid crosses his arms, kicks a track in the fresh snow. Glances up to find a familiar smirk on Ducks face. The last time he looked that way it was right before he rattled off the worlds most convoluted brain teaser in order to distract Indrid from a distressing incident at work.

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch…” He croons.

“Don’t you dare.” Indrid growls.

“You really are heel.” 

“Gah, how are you getting more off key?” A smile cracks through his grimace.

“Aw, can’t a fella serenade you?”

Indrid squawks, hoping indignance covers his blush, and chucks a handful of snow at Duck. The other man barks a laugh and hops backward. 

“Not a fan of the classics, huh?” 

“Stay still and suffer for your crimes against melody.” Indrid throws more snow.

“When a cold when blows it chills you, chills you to the bone.”

“Don’t you dare use the Muppets against me!”

“Better figure out a way to stop me” Duck dances out of the path of a snowball.

“I will, get back here.”

Duck keeps singing as he jogs ineffectively backwards, “But there’s nothin in nature that freezes your heart like years of bein aloneAH” He trips and tumbles into the snow and Indrid seizes his chance and tackles him. 

Before Duck can open his mouth to continue, Indrid is kissing him. If Duck is surprised by the gesture, he doesn’t show it, cups a chilly hand at the back of his head, encouraging, pleased sounds bubbling from his throat. 

Indrid sits up, shyly, reserves of boldness used up on that one kiss. Duck shifts up onto his hands, walks them forward so he can lean in and kiss him again, breath fogging Indrids glasses as they separate. 

“You feel like continuin this inside? My pants are gettin kinda soggy.”

“Can’t have you suffering too much for your questionable clothing choices” Indrid teases, helping him up, “come on.”

Indrid waits on the couch as Duck changes, enjoying the way the multi-colored lights he hung over the doorway cast strange, stained glass shadows on the walls. 

Duck plops down on the couch, grabbing a thick, snowflake patterned blanket and pulling it over them. 

“Can I confess something?” Indrid whispers. 

“You mean other than your crush on me? Because that boat done sailed.”

“Hush.” Indrid tugs him closer, “There’s another reason I didn’t speak up about how the Christmas overload was bothering me. I, well, it makes you so happy. I know you get homesick, and that studying abroad last year meant no snow. And I so love seeing you happy, I couldn’t bring myself to dampen your joy.”

“You never get homesick?” Duck rests his head on Indrids shoulder. 

“Not unless one can be homesick for a version of home that never existed, rather than the one that did.”

“Heh” Duck takes his hands, running his thumb along the knuckles, “y’know, that’s part of why I went so overboard. I know you got mixed feelins about the holidays, and I was hopin that maybe I could show you how nice they could be if you were with someone who cared about you.”

The answer startles him, and Duck takes the opportunity to kiss his nose. 

“You’d really do that for me?”

“Do a lot of things for you.” Duck grins. 

“I, uh, ah, yes” his world tilts as Duck lays down on the couch, guiding him to rest atop his warm, soft form, “all I ask is that we perhaps discuss what things about this season we might both enjoy. I’ll need to ease into it.”

“Think I can manage that.” Fingers carding his hair now. 

“I’m” he yawns, stretches out before snuggling down “I’m going to fall asleep, on you, I fear.”

“Don’t worry about that none” Duck kisses his forehead, wraps his arms around him, “sleep tight, darlin.”


	4. Getaway (OT4: Indrid/Duck/Stern/Barclay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #100: The b&b we’re at asked if we wouldn’t mind sharing a room since we know each other and this snow storm has brought in some unexpected guests…one bed…three nights…  
> A reader requested this with the OT4

“I’m so sorry, sir.” The harried looking young woman behind the desk looks between Stern and Barclay, “between the blizzard and it already being New Years weekend, we’ve had to take in a few more people than expected.”

“So our room’s been given to someone else?” Stern puts on his professional demeanor, the one he uses to soothe tourists who’ve definitely seen something they shouldn’t

“Yes, unfortunately. The, the only room we have left is the cottage in the back. It sleeps four, but we can’t guarantee you wouldn’t have to share with another couple.”

“Uh, ‘scuse me, miss, but I think we can make that work.” Duck Newton steps around Barclay, Indrid busy looking over the many brochures on the far wall, “you see, my friend and I’d more than willing to bunk with these two, since they’re friends from back home. Assumin' that’s alright with them?”

“Of course.” Stern smiles.

“Oh, thank you, thank you all for being so accommodating. And I’m sorry again about the inconvenience.”

—————————

“Well, that went better than expected.” Stern sets down his duffel bag on one of the two beds. 

“You’re tellin me, this is way easier than bookin the two next to each other and sneakin back and forth.”

“Yeah, had my fill of sneaking around.” Barclay adds, evaluating the small kitchen. 

“I mean, unless one of the other guests took a rather blurry photo of you, it’d be better than your previous attempts to ‘sneak’” Indrid is finally down unwrapping himself down to his sweatpants and the pink and yellow sweater Duck bought him. 

“You’re on to talk stealth, mr. my-pants-say-mothman-on-the-ass.” Barclay grabs said ass, making Indrid squeak.

“I am wearing them ironically.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

Duck, meanwhile, flops down on the bed where Stern is unpacking.

“Jesus, darlin, how many books did you bring?”

“Three. When Indrid said there’d likely be a blizzard, I assumed that would cut down on our outdoor activities. And cable is so atrocious these days.”

“So…” Duck tugs the front of his shirt, bringing him down for a kiss, “you really can’t think of another thing we’d be doin to stay out of the cold?”

“Duck, we can’t do that for three days straight.”

“You sayin you opposed to tryin?”

“I’m saying” Stern puts away the last of his clothing, “that I am a mortal man, and three days of non-stop fucking would probably kill me.”

“Hey, we’d stop some. Gotta eat, and sleep too. Probably throw in a few showers. Unless what does it for you is the smell of a bunch of sweaty dudes.”

Stern wrinkles his nose, and Duck laughs. 

“Oooh!” Indrid steps into the room, clapping his hands excitedly, “I’m going to take a bath.” He swings the bathroom door open, revealing a tub. It occurs to Stern, as the skinnier man strips down without delay, that none of them even bothered asking how Indrid knew the tub was there. 

Stern never thought he’d be around them long enough to get used to his boyfriend always being a bit ahead of him. 

He heads back into the main room of the cottage, finds Barclay unloading groceries. 

“Glad we stocked up before we left. Think trying to get the car down to that grocery store we passed would be impossible. I have had enough car-based hijinks for one lifetime, don’t need to add doing Icecapades in a Jeep to the list.”

“Car based hijinks?’

“Long story.” Barclay turns, offering his hand, “c’mon, agent, haven’t gotten to hold you nearly enough today.” The larger man stretches out on the couch, Stern laying so he’s cuddled against his chest.

A chirp-moan splashes out of the bathroom. 

“Guess Indrid’s got company.” Barclay chuckles. Another chirp, this one more of a trill, and Barclays legs shift as if he’s hiding something. Stern has a good guess as to what.

“Feeling the need to join them? I know you get wound up when Indrid makes sounds like that.” He traces a finger along the blue lines of Barclays plaid shirt. 

“Nah, not right now. Right now, kinda enjoying being all warm and cozy with the best thing to ever come out of the FBI in my arms.”

Stern snorts, kisses his chest. Let’s his mind wander like a cat searching for a sunny spot as intermittent moans continue reaching them. 

“Wait…there was a report from the 90s that I always thought was absurd. Something about Bigfoot stealing someone’s car. But the location, the timeline…”

“Uhhhh.”

“Oh my LORD, why would you steal a car?”

“Things got out of hand! Quickly.” Barclay regales him with the story, Stern doing his best to look affronted at the reckless behavior but tipping quickly into pure amusement. 

Barclay eventually coaxes Stern off of him so he can go ask the kitchen in the main B&B if they have cumin. Stern wanders into the bedroom and finds a now mothed-out Indrid falling asleep with Duck in his arms. The Sylph lifts the wing resting atop the human, an offer for Stern to join them. He does, looping his arms around Duck as the wing gently returns to its role as blanket. 

“You know” Indrid murmurs, “one of these days I ought to make you all moth disguises, just so I can see what all the fuss is about.”

“That could be a fascinating exercise.” Stern whispers.

“Hell yeah.” Duck wiggles in Sterns embrace “Mothman cuddles.”

————————————————–

Stern wakes up alone, though someone has thoughtfully draped a blanket over him. As he rouses, voices drift in from the living room. 

“Do you think he knows?”

“Judging by the futures, no.”

“Please tell me we’re tellin him soon. If I end up havin to try to lie about this it’s gonna go bad.”

Hmmmm, that is not the kind of conversation one wants to overhear their boyfriends having in hushed tones. 

He yawns exaggeratedly, assuming that will bring a hush over the trio. 

Instead, it brings a certain ranger right on top of him. Duck kisses him, smiling as he does, and all Sterns worries evaporate. 

“Perfect timin’, darlin, dinner’s almost ready.” 

“I’d love to join you all, but it appears I’m being attacked by a bear.” He smirks. Duck growls playfully, bending down to drag a rough kiss up his neck. Stern retaliates by placing a hickey on the first exposed patch of skin he sees. 

“You two are welcome to continue in that direction, but be warned I will eat any cheesecake not claimed in the next five minutes.”

“Indrid, that’s for dessert!”

“I reject such arbitrary notions of EEEEEEEP”

“Come on” Stern sits up, Duck coming with him, “let’s go make sure Indrids glasses don’t come off from Barclay throwing him over his shoulder. Again.”

———————————————————-

“The methodology in this show is truly abhorrent.” Stern rests his head on Ducks belly, the two watching one of the dozen ghost hunting shows airing on the Discovery Channel.

“No kiddin’. Also, these fellas startle so easy they’re doin a better job scarin themselves than any ghost could.”

Duck strokes his hair and he sighs, nuzzles at the slip of skin that’s showing between his boxers and white t-shirt. The boxers only went back on about ten minutes prior, as Stern had been seized with a desperate need to unhurriedly and lovingly suck his boyfriend off, fingers teasing and squeezing the thighs he so adores. 

The front door creaks open and whines closed, Barclay and Indrid walking in arm in arm. 

“Did you have a nice walk?”

“Indeed.” Indrid’s face is school-girl shy. 

“You’re blushin, ‘Drid.” Duck teases, before sitting up so animatedly that Sterns rolls to land facedown in his lap with an “oof.” 

“Holy shit, Barclay, did you work some kind of magic shit to make him willin’ to have sex in the snow? Because that’s fuckin impressive.”

“No, I am merely feeling a bit nostalgic.” Indrid unzips the first of his three outer layers. 

“The first time Indrid and I met was in the middle of a really, really bad winter.” Barclay sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing Sterns legs gently as he talks, “Uh, is it gonna weird either of you out to hear this?”

“No.” Stern reaches out to squeeze Barclays hand once, before returning it to rest comfortable on Ducks knee. 

“Nope. Gotta admit, been kinda curious about it ever since you first mentioned y’all had fucked around when you were younger.”

“Well, long story short, I was in a trailer park, renting a little spot while I tried to sort shit out. One night, I kept hearing noises I recognized as being from another Sylph. And whoever was making them sounded real upset. So I trudged out in my pajamas and followed the noise to this other trailer. Poked my head in and there was Indrid, looking sad as could be. And, y’know, like a giant fucking moth.”

“I was busy feeling sorry for myself and was therefore not watching the futures. It was startling to suddenly have a human in my space. At least until you took off you, hmmm, what was it then?”

“I think it was a ring. Anyway, once we were on the same page, Indrid just kind of started, uh-”

“You can say babbling. It’s an accurate portrayal. I was lonely, I’d been having a run of bad visions, and I’d found myself more homesick than made sense.”

“Aw, ‘Drid.” Duck opens his arm and the Sylph slips under it, Barclay scooching closer as well.

“I was also, shall we say, dealing with an unexpected spike in my arousal levels, almost like a heat. So I was craving touch and connection. I must have been a sight.”

“Yeah” Barclay rumbles, “a real cute one. Little moth.”

Indrid chirrs bashfully, pressing his face into the crook of Ducks neck.

“Anyway, ended up spending the next few days together. Bumped into each other a few times after that, but nothing could ever top finding him that first night.” Barclay smiles at his fellow Sylph, who continues making charming chirrs. After a moment, Indrid lifts his glasses, smiling at the trio. It starts off sweet, moves to wicked as he finishes his question.

“As I sense that’s brought a, ah, romantic air to the evening; would anyone care to help me push the beds together?”

——————————————

Stern is about to be broken up with. He can tell. 

That morning he’d awoken with Indrid still snuggled up around him, purring softly, but when he stepped into the kitchen he’s certain Duck and Barclay had switched to an innocent topic at normal volume, rather than the whispers they’d been making before. 

Later, as they’re lounging about by the little bot-bellied stove, reading (or, in Indrid’s case, drawing), he noticed the pale-haired man taking care to not let him see certain pages. 

But truly, the most damning fact is that Stern has never had a relationship last more than a year, no matter how well it seemed to be going. And no matter how much logic he applies to the situation (Duck murmuring filthy suggestions for that night into his ear, Barclay kissing him any time he walked past, Indrid pulling him into the bedroom for a vigorous bout of sex), he cant stop thinking that the end has come. Patterns are patterns, and while he knows that’s a tautology, he can’t help feeling it offers some unshakeable truth.

It’s the early evening when Barclay, coming up behind him for a hug, says, “Damn, babe, your back is all knotted up.”

“It must be from the cold.” He replies, sighing when Barclay nuzzles his cheek.

“If you need to shake the chill, I found that bath yesterday quite helpful.” Indrid lilts.

And so Stern draws himself a bath and settles in with the “champagne” scented bubble bath provided by their hosts. How very seasonal.

Maybe they won’t do it until after the all return to the lodge. That makes the most sense, as it won’t ruin anybody’s trip. If that’s the case, maybe he ought to savor this last little bit of bliss. 

He does feel a little better after the bath, though he’s now covered in a faintly sugary smell that’s far better suited to Indrid than him. He pulls on one of the fluffy robes, heads into the main room to see if dinner is ready.

“SURPRISE!”

“JESUS!” He jumps, unprepared for the sight of his boyfriends standing around the table, at the center of which sits a cake and…are those fondue pots?

Hanging on the table is a banner, obviously handmade, that reads, “Happy Anniversary.”

“Anniversary?” He looks at the others, perplexed. 

“Little delayed, on account of we thought it’d be more fun to wait and do it now. And, uh, you had to fly back to D.C the actual week.” Duck says, stifling the giggles he got from Sterns surprised outburst, “but it’s the one year anniversary of when you turned up in Kepler. Kinda. And we wanted to celebrate you comin into our lives, even if it scared the livin hell out of us–you okay, city mouse?” Duck’s face falling is the last thing Stern sees before his head collapses into his hands, his built up dread pushing out of his body in shuddery gasps. 

Barclay’s arms are around him in an instant, “Hey, babe, hey, it’s alright. We’re so fucking glad you turned up.”

“It’s, it’s not that.”

“Oh dear.” 

He glances over Barclay’s shoulder, sees Indrid coming out of a peek at the futures.

“Oh pet, did you really think all the secrecy was because we were going to leave you?”

“Wait, what?” Ducks glances at Indrid, who nods, “Joe, we’re crazy about you. Hell, Barclay was flirtin with you even when he thought you might put him in area 51 or some shit.”

“I, I know. It, it seems silly in retrospect but unfortunately my track record is a bit bleak. I once had a date I’d been seeing casually for six months sneak out the bathroom window while we were out to dinner. Never heard from him again. Another called me up the day after I got accepted into the UP and said we could never see each other again. We’d been fine two days before.”

“Yeeesh” Barclay kisses his forehead, “can see why you got jumpy.”

“Even so, I’m afraid I let my anxiety drive more than I should have. I’m sorry”

“Unnecessary apology accepted.” Indrid teases, pulling out a chair, “come, Barclay’s been having to beat me off with a stick the entire time he was making that red velvet cake and my patience is waning.”

“You didn’t mind the spatula to the ass.”

Indrid chirps, mock affronted, and Duck snickers, settling across from Indrid as Stern and Barclay take their seats. 

“Only you could manage fondue in a rental cottage.” Stern smiles fondly at the cook. 

“I’ve got like, a dozen fondue sets. Jake keeps giving them to me at the holidays. I’m not sure if it’s a joke, or if he just forgets he’s gotten me that before. This year he put Hollis’s name on it too.”

“That…explains the color palette.” Stern grabs one of the black skewers from the yellow pot. To his side he sees Indrid set his hand out on the table, Duck’s coming to rest in it automatically, as if the two were made for each other. 

“Hold up” Duck uses his free hand to lift his glass, “wanna make a toast. Here’s to makin it through the end of the world, to findin each other even if the mess of monster-huntin that was our lives and” he grins at Stern, “here’s to the fact no one could lie well enough to keep you from stayin at the lodge.”

Stern raises his glass and clinks it with the others, smiling back as he murmurs, “cheers.”


	5. Keep Me Warm (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested: 09. "i gave my winter coat to a homeless person and come into your store to warm up," except Duck goes into Leo's store and then overhears Indrid talking to Leo about the nice man who gave him a coat thinking he was homeless, when really he just misjudged how many layers he'd need

“Howdy, Pigeon,” Duck nods to to the young woman working the bakery case as he stomps snow from his boots. Maybe walking the six blocks to the Jenny Street Market in the mild snowstorm wasn’t the wisest call, but he’s been cooped up in meetings all day and in desperate need of fresh air. 

He goes for his list, and realizes it was in the pocket of the jacket he no longer has. 

Whelp, time to do this from memory. 

He needs wet cat food, that Winnie rather aggressively reminded him of this morning. Bread, cheddar jack, that protein pasta Minerva told him he needs to start eating, sugar cookie chai for when Aubrey comes over, sliced turkey and…damn it, he know there’s at least one thing he’s forgetting. 

As he winds through the aisles, he overhears Leo, the store owner, talking to someone.

“Hey, Indrid, tattoo any bikers today?”

A lilting chuckle, “Hardly. A sociology undergrad, two graduate students, and flash walk-in were all that was on the schedule.”

“Snazzy jacket you got there. Looks kinda big though.”

“It’s not mine. Or, well, I didn’t buy it.” There’s a rustle of plastic bags, a crinkle of containers from the bakery section, “I was in a hurry this morning and forgot a layer. I was fine until I was waiting for the bus, and then I had to huddle up against the corner of the nearest building. A good Samaritan assumed I was homeless, gave me his jacket and a ten dollar bill, mumbled something, and dashed off before I could explain.”

Duck’s mortified lightbulb moment is underscored by Leo’s wheezing laugh.

“Heh, though Duck looked under dressed for the weather.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pretty sure I know who gave that to you.”

“Really?” Indrid sounds excited, “what do they look like?”

Duck peeks around the end of the aisle: That’s the man he gave his jacket to, alright. His silvery hair pokes out from under a red beanie, matching the red glasses on his hawkish nose, and his scarf is a garish striping of pink and yellow. He doesn’t look as disheveled under the grocery store lights. In fact, he’s pretty cute. 

Duck’s still not going to talk to him, though.

“The guy I’m thinkin of is kinda stocky, got streaks of grey in the hair around his forehead, eyes are two different colors-”

“-and he’s trying to hide behind that pyramid of grape juice?” Indrid locks eyes with Duck before he can get out his sight-line. 

“Yep.” Leo smirks, crossing his arms and turning back to his register, leaving Duck to his fate. 

“Hi” Duck waves sheepishly, contemplating if Leo will let him do an IOU so he can bolt out the door with his grocery basket. 

“Hello.” Indrid cradles the stack of day-old cookie packages in his arms, and Duck is so busy trying to come up with an apology that he doesn’t notice the once-over he’s being given until Indrid makes an approving face in the direction of his arms. Were he not preoccupied with a wish to sink into the floor, he’d be glad he wore the sweater that shows off his arms. 

“Uh, um, look, I’m real sorry, I shouldn’tve assumed you were homeless, you just looked so fuckin cold and I wanted to help and, uh-”

“It’s quite alright, ah, Duck, correct?” Indrid steps closer. 

“Yep. It’s uh, a nickname.”

“I like it. And thank you for your jacket, although I assume you’ll want it back now.” 

“You can keep it.”

Indrid raises a dark, pierced eyebrow. 

“Um, seems like you live nearby. You oughta wear it home so you don’t freeze and I can get it another time. But, uh, can I have the grocery list in the right front pocket?”

“Of course.” Indrid balances the cookie containers in one arm and pulls out the crumpled paper, nearly dumping a pair of skeleton themed mittens on the ground as he does. But instead of handing it over, he says mildly, “it does seem like you remembered everything.”

“I mean, maybe, but I don’t feel like havin to go out again if I didn’t.” 

“Bread?”

“Yep”

“Cheese?”

“Yep.”

(is Indrid reading off his list with a flirty expression, or is that his imagination?)

“Cat food, pasta, chai, turkey, eggs, my number?”

“Yep, yep, yep, yep, nope, wait what?”

Indrid grabs a pen from the nearby counter, setting the boxes down, and scratches something on the list, “Now you do.”

Duck giggles as he takes the offered paper, “Damn, you always that fuckin' smooth?”

“No, it happens about once a month. And really only for men with cute butts who are good-hearted enough to give a stranger their jacket in the middle of a Wisconsin December.”

“Heh” Duck scratches the back of his neck, blushing at the floor. 

“And if you’d like, I was planning to stop by the Wayfarer later tonight. I wouldn’t mind company. I can even buy you a drink.” He grins, flashing the ten dollar bill Duck handed him earlier. 

“Ain’t you the generous one.” Duck teases stepping one across one more linoleum tile so the only thing between them is his basket. 

“You have no idea.” Indrid purrs in his ear, plants a quick kiss on his jaw before turning and grabbing his groceries. The smile he turns on Duck is anything but innocent, “see you at seven.” 

Duck takes a moment to watch him go, before heading off to get eggs. After all, he needs to hurry up; he has a date tonight.


	6. The Good Doctor (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader asked: Can I request 42 with Sternclay? I love the way you write everyone it’s adorable ((42. i found a cat shivering in the snow and you’re the cutest vet i’ve ever seen))

The snow morphs into sleet as Stern hurries down the street, the wind off the lake biting his neck. According to the directions he glanced at, the building he needs should be on this block.

“Mew” Says his pocket. 

“It’s alright, we’ll get you warmed up soon.”

The sign on the door of West Elm Veterinary declares they’re open until six. Relief shakes some of the damp from his shoulders, though the wind deposits another round before he manages to get inside. 

“Hello, how can I help you?” The young, blonde woman behind the counter looks him over, “I’m gonna guess this is an emergency?”

“In a way, yes. I, I found a kitten on my way home and it seems to be in very bad shape. I’m so sorry I don’t have an appointment, but this was the vet closest to home.”

“That’s okay, we don’t have any remaining appointments today, and I feel safe saying we’d rather you bring someone in than we get to go home a bit early. Let me go grab Dr. Cobb.”

“Thank you so much.” He does his best to smile through his exhaustion and cold as she ducks into a back room. The office is small, and he sees on two vets listed: Dr. Cobb and Dr. Newton. But it’s warm and clean, walls decorated with pet medicine advertisements and PSAs, two shelves on the far wall holding special diet pet foods. 

The wall behind the reception desk is lined with thank you cards and photos, and as Stern peers at them his pocket meows once again, the noise weaker than before. 

“Shhh” he pulls his jacket closer, hoping to pass on more body warmth, “it’s alright, the vet will be here soon.”

“He will indeed.” 

Stern looks at the now-open exam room door. Leaning against it is one of the most handsome men he’s ever seen. He’s tall, looks like he could bench press Stern, with a short-clipped, coppery beard and shaggy dark hair that he’s gathered into a bun. The warm brown eyes and the reassuring smile are just the icing on the beefcake.

“Kitten?”

“Excuse me?” Sterns voice creeps up. No one’s called him that in years.

“You’re the one who brought in the kitten, right?” Dr.Cobb repeats, patient as can be. 

“Oh, yes. She’s in my jacket. I didn’t have anywhere else to keep her.”

“Good call. Let’s bring her in here and have a look.” 

Stern follows him into the exam room, and gingerly lifts the kitten from his pocket. She looks impossibly scraggly in the bright light. Her eyes are crusted over and she shivers in Sterns hands. 

Dr.Cobb holds out his palms, and they’re large enough that the kitten nearly fits in one of them. 

“Hey, little one.” He sets her down on the metallic table, begins checking her vitals, “what happened to you, huh?” 

God, his voice is deep and comforting and if it’s affecting the feline the way it’s affecting Stern, the cat will be better in no time. 

“Where was she when you found her?”

“Behind a dumpster at the EL station. I looked to see if there was a mother nearby, or other kittens, but I couldn’t find them. And honestly, based on how thin and dirty she looked I assumed she’d been on her own a bit.”

“Think you’re probably right. She’s malnourished for sure, and dehydrated, if you can believe it given how wet it’s been. Got an eye infection, hopefully that’s all the illness she’s dealing with.” The vet rubs the kittens forehead and she lets out an unsteady “mewp.”

“We’ll keep her overnight, get some fluids in her, and go from there. Do you want us to contact you with an update?” 

“Yes please.” Stern rattles of his name and phone number and Dr.Cobb jots them down.

“Thanks, hopefully we have good news tomorrow. Dani can help you wrap up out front.”

Just as Stern finishes paying (in spite of Dani saying they have a pool of funds for caring for strays. After all, what good is his job if he can’t use the money to care for helpless animals), a tender baritone voice calls out, “Joseph, hold on a sec.” 

He turns, finds the vet holding out a an umbrella and a travel mug smelling faintly of mint.

“For the road.” He smiles.

“Thank you, uh…”

“Barclay.” The vet supplies.

Stern takes the offered items, “Thank you, Barclay. I’ll keep an ear out for the updates.”

———————————-

His phone rings at lunch, as he’s eating a reheated sandwich.

“Stern.”

“Hi Mr. Stern, this is Dani at West Elm Vet. I’ve got some good news about the kitten. She’s stable and eating, and we got fluids into her. Her eyes are still a little wonky, but she’s already getting some energy back.”

“That’s wonderful. Uh, would it be alright if I came by to see her this evening?”

He hears the smile on the other end, “Of course.”

When arrives at the vet, he brings the washed travel mug, the umbrella, and a small box of gourmet truffles.

“Here to see the kitten.” 

Barclay grins at him across the counter. 

“Yes. And I wanted to return these. The truffles are a thank you to you all for your help.” 

“Ooh, love their stuff.” Barclay eyes the chocolate box. 

“Barclay I swear if you eat it all before I get any-” Dani appears from a back room, returning to her post at the computer. 

“I know, I know, you’ll let that one chihuahua loose in my office.” Barclay hands her the box, gestures for Stern to follow him. They head down a small hallway to a little boarding space for cats. The kitten, clean and and snoozing in the warmth, looks like a sandy brown, tiny tumbleweed.

“I hadn’t realized how big her paws are.” Stern pets the glass softly,not wanting to wake the feline. 

“She might grow into them, or they might stay big compared to her. I’m a little worried about her eyes; if that infection doesn’t clear up, she could lose one, maybe both.”

“Oh dear.” Stern murmurs, tracing an ear through the glass, “that hardly seems fair, does it? It’s not your fault, little cat. If I’d found you sooner maybe…” He sighs.

“Hey, none of that.” A warm hand rests on his shoulder, “she’s probably alive right now because of you. And she’s a tough little thing, she’ll manage.”

Without thinking, Stern rests his hand atop Barclays, “thank you.” 

The hand squeezes his quickly, and then it’s gone.

————————–

Stern’s routine changes over the next weeks. Once, and usually twice, per week he visits the vet to check on the kitten and her caretakers. He starts bringing a late afternoon pick-me up for Dani from the local coffee shop, and whatever gourmet candy or snack he thinks Barclay might like. If it’s slow, Barclay will make him tea and the two of them will chat while he fusses over the kitten. She grows stronger, looks less like she’s been run through a washing machine, but her infection claims her right eye. 

Stern still thinks she’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

Well, second cutest. But it’s hard for anyone or anything to compete with Barclay. Especially when he laughs or sends a wink Sterns way. 

Stern starts bringing toys for the kitten, catnip fish for her to hold between her large paws, jingly plastic spheres to help her practice hunting and chasing with one eye. When she’s finally old enough and well enough to be put up for adoption, Stern helps take the photos to go up on the Humane Society page. 

Three days later, he’s ready to take a chance. And as luck would have it, Barclay is at the front desk alone when he walks in.

“Hey, Joseph.”

“Hello. I’m here to check on my little friend. And, ah, to ask if you would like to go to dinner with me tomorrow.”

Barclay stands, starts walking around the counter with a funny smile, “you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Bad.” 

“She got adopted this morning, so that stuffed hedgehog in your coat might not get much use.”

“Oh that’s, that’s wonderful!” He means it, he really does. He just wishes he could have scritched her ears one more time.

“But the good news” Barclay rests one on his shoulder while the other brushes a strand of hair back into place, “is that you and I have a date on Friday.” 

Stern beams, even as Dani’s voice comes from the back room, “I TOLD you he was into you!”

Dinner the next night is perfect. Stern’s never seen Barclay in anything other than work clothes, and nearly walks into a pole when he catches the first glimpse of the other man waiting at the crosswalk in his jacket and slacks. 

They talk easily, Barclays rumbling laugh filling the plush restaurant booth and sending sparks up Sterns fingers. To his surprise, Barclay asks if he’d like to come back to his place for “coffee”. He eagerly accepts, even if the meal and the company has him feeling sluggish and dreamy. 

“So” Barclay flips on the light, revealing a modest apartment that looks like a north woods cabin was dumped inside it, “this is my place. Figure we can start out with coffee on the couch and then” he blushes for the first time that night, “see how things go. But first, let me introduce you to my roommate.”

“Roommate?” 

“Mew!”

Stern makes a somewhat higher than normal shriek of delight as a familiar, one-eyed ball of fluff barrels into his legs, purring happily as he scoops her up and cuddles her. 

“I was due to adopt one of the strays eventually. Bigfoot here turned out to be the one.” He bats at the cats still-oversized paws, scratches the her head as he nuzzles the top of Sterns hair.

“It wasn’t a ploy to get me to come over?” Stern teases. 

Barclay chuckles, “That did cross my mind. Call it a bonus piece of good luck.”

Stern ends his night wonderfully. He spends the first hour happily and handsily making out with Barclay on the couch while Bigfoot gnaws and chases her new stuffed hedgehog. And then he and Barclay fall asleep, cuddled up beneath a heavy knit blanket, with Bigfoot nestled between them.


	7. Sweet (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested: "You called me at two in the moring insisting that I come over and help you bake christmas cookies for the party tomorrow because you forgot to make them earlier and need help now" for Sternclay.

_Beepbeepbeep_

Barclay blinks awake in a panic. That is definitely a smoke detector. His faculties return enough to clue him in that it’s not the one in his apartment, but rather the one below him. 

It’s probably nothing. His downstairs neighbor sometimes gets home late, and makes (or burns) dinner at odd hours. Still, Barclay would prefer to check and have it be no big deal than go back to bed only for said bed to collapse through the floor into the fiery inferno below an hour later. 

He pulls on his green, plaid bathrobe and walks the short flight of stairs to 32B. It takes a few moments for his knock to be answered. And he’s unprepared for the sight that greets him when it is.

Joseph Stern is the epitome of buttoned up; Barclay’s never seen him in anything less formal than a button shirt and slacks, even on the weekends. His black hair is always slicked back, allowing Barclay an unfettered view of his movies-star handsome cheekbones and bright blue eyes. He’s certain Stern doesn’t know how badly he’d like to dig his fingers into the gelled strands and pull them loose, how he looks forward to the times Stern invites him in for tea if they arrive home at the same hour, how weirdly relieved Barclay feels that he’s never heard or seen a sign that Stern’s brought a date home. 

Which is why the man who opens the door makes Barclays imagination spin out like a car on the ice. 

Stern’s hair is mussed, he’s in a white t-shirt and bigfoot-patterned pajama pants, and there’s a streak of white across his cheek. He turns red as soon as he glimpses Barclay.

“I’m so sorry, the alarm woke you up I assume?”

“Yep. Just, uh, just wanted to check to see if everything was okay.”

“Nothing’s on fire, if that’s what you mean.”

“You sure? Still smells kinda smoky-”

_Beepbeepbeep_

“Shit.” Stern dashes back towards his kitchen, leaving an open door and a confused Barclay behind him. 

Barclay crosses the threshold, shutting the door and then jumping when a narrow head and beady eyes peer at him from the dark bedroom

“gAH!”

Stern stops waving a piece of junk mail at his smoke detector to address the eerie shape, “It’s alright Nessie, your idiot owner just burnt some cookies.”

A greyhound pokes itself into the living room, collar jingling as it cautiously approaches Barclay. 

“Hey there, friend.” Barclay coos, lets the narrow, wet nose investigate him as he walks into the kitchen, “Cookies, huh?” He takes in the messy counters, the pile of bowls in the sink, and the plume of smoke escaping the oven. 

“Yes. I have a holiday party to attend tomorrow and I was already in bed when I remembered I agreed to bring cookies.”

“Can’t you just buy some before you go?”

“I considered that, believe me. But, well, it’s at a house where I know my ex will be attending, and he would just love the chance to point out to everyone how I’m too busy to even make cookies for the people I care about.”

“Jesus, what a dick.”

Stern laughs, a sound only he could make dignified, “That’s the understatement of the decade. And the reason it’s two in morning and my kitchen is full of smoke from cookies I clearly did not make correctly.”

Barclay examines the cookie sheet. It’s contents are one giant blob.

“Well, looks like your batter was too liquid so it spread and dripped off the sheet. That’s what started burning. Do you still have some left?”

Stern nods toward a silver mixing bowl. Barclay peers in, then grabs a nearby quarter cup measure and the bag of flour.

“This is a pretty easy fix. Here, I can get this sorted out if you can get the gunk out of the oven when it cools.”

“Right, of course.” Stern kneels down, searching beneath the sink through a stash of cleaning supplies, shooing Nessie away when she gets perilously close to the bleach bottle. 

Barclay adds flour to the cookie batter and turns on the mixer. It takes a little tweaking, but soon it’s looking how it needs to. His lingering grogginess turns on his autopilot, and he flours up the rolling pin and starts pressing down the dough.

“Why are you helping me?” Stern asks softly. 

“Just being neighborly, I guess.”

“It is two a.m, the apartment still smells like burnt dough, and you must have work at the bakery in the morning. You don’t need to stay. I care about our friendship Barclay and I’d hate you to resent me for this. You should go.”

“Yeah, I guess, even though I have the evening shift tomorrow. But I kinda want to stay. I like making cookies, and you could clearly use a little help. Unless you, like, need me to go, in which case I can.”

“I’d prefer the company, honestly. I can’t think of many things more pathetic than a grown man frosting Christmas cookies by himself in the dead of night.”

Barclay sets the rolling pin aside, rests a hand on either of Sterns shoulders, and smiles down at him, “Okay, how about this then: you plug in those lights you’ve got up and put on some water for tea and some music, and then come and help me make these? That still sound pathetic?”

“On the contrary” Stern meets his gaze, eyes regaining some of their shine, “it sounds wonderful.”

——————————————

The clock reads 3:30 a.m by the time they’re frosting at the table. After he agreed to stay, Stern became immediately calmer, and has moved from that to downright chatty. He looks even more handsome by the glow of his christmas lights, and has made Barclay laugh more times than he can count. Barclay’s crush is only intensifying as a result. 

Stern opted for tubes of premade frosting to simplify things, and he’s busy decorating tree-shaped cookies with the green while Barclay tackles the star cookies with the white. 

“Anyway, that’s how come I named her Nessie. I actually had–ugh, why isn’t this coming out–a hamster named “Hodag” when I was youngAH!” The bag explodes, splatting sugary green goo over both men. 

“Shit, I’m so, so sorry.” Stern scrambles for a napkin.

“Really not your night, huh?” Barclay chuckles as he undoes his now-frosted bathrobe and tosses it on an empty chair.

“Clearly, good lord, I wasn’t even squeezing that…”

“Everything okay?” Stern’s eyes have gone worryingly wide

“Yes.” Stern breathes out.

Barclay shivers. Which is how he remembers that he’d gone to bed shirtless. And that Stern hasn’t stopped staring. 

He grins, “Like what you see?”

“Let’s just say my night has been greatly improved by seeing it.” Stern steps around the table, draws the napkin along Barclays neck, trying to remove a stray splotch of green.

“Agh, why is this stuff so hard to get off?”

“Dunno, must be whatever dye they use-oh, oh fuck.” A warm tongue laps at his neck, and the spot is gone in an instant. 

“It appears we’ve just found an efficient way of removing it.”

“Uh huh.” Barclay cups Sterns cheek, kisses him as gently as his jackhammer of a heart will allow. 

“Is this really okay?” He whispers. He needs to know, he has to be certain, because Stern is relaxed and melting into his arms and if he fucks that up by moving too fast he will never forgive himself. 

“It’s perfect.” Stern nuzzles his beard, “I’d, uh, I’d very much like to keep kissing you until I fall asleep.”

“Think I can manage that. Go get cozy, babe, and I’ll join you in a sec.”

Stern kisses his cheek and heads into the bedroom. As Barclay packs up the cookies, the dark-haired man reappears with a puzzle toy and a dog bed, which he sets in front of the heater so they won’t be disturbed.

By the time Barclay is done, Stern is waiting for him under the covers, sans his frosting covered shirt. Barclay snuggles up in his arms, kissing him slow and soft, learning and memorizing the ways to draw little sighs of pleasure from his lips. Sterns eyelids droop first, and he falls asleep in Barclays arms. He strokes his back gently before dropping off himself. 

And in the morning, they have cookies for breakfast


	8. Sugar, Cookies (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested: 57 with indruck would be the perfect christmas gift! Love your work!
> 
> #57: You called me at two in the moring insisting that I come over and help you bake christmas cookies for the party tomorrow because you forgot to make them earlier and need help now.

It’s 1:58 a.m, December 22nd, and Duck Newton should really be in bed. 

Instead, he’s aimlessly puttering about his kitchen. 

He can’t sleep. He’s tried. But something in his mind won’t settle, and each time he tries to grasp at it, to see what’s troubling him, the thought skitters away into some dark corner of his brain. 

Any distraction would be welcome at this point; hell, even if the now-closed gate were to open up with an abomination, that would be an improvement. At least then he’d know what he was worried about. 

_Ringring_

Thank god. Maybe Leo can’t sleep either, maybe Minerva’s decided he needs to do some kind of sudden hero training, maybe Barclay needs help at the lodge.

“Go for Duck.”

“Hello, Duck.” The lilt drifting across the telephone lines is unmistakable.

“Hey, Indrid, everything-”

“-okay? Yes. Or, well, mostly yes. My call is not a matter of life or death, if that’s what you mean. I was calling to ask if you’d be able to help me with something.”

“What kind of somethin?” Duck is already looking for his shoes, partially as a means of distraction from the filthy picture his mind just supplied of how he could help Indrid in the middle of the night.

“I am baking cookies for the party tomor-, ah, well, I suppose it’s technically today now, and I require assistance.”

“I mean, sure, but why call me? Sounds more like Barclay’s kinda thing.”

“True, but the futures showed me that you were going to spend the remainder of your night in a restless funk, and I wanted to prevent that. Also they show Barclay, ah, preoccupied with Agent Stern this evening. Goodness, who knew they-”

“Whoah, god, please do not make me think about my friends doin it. I’ll be over in a few.”

Indrid’s smile is audible, “wonderful. I shall see you soon.”

——————————————

Indrid spends the next fifteen minutes cleaning. 

Shoving things into cabinets and under furniture counts as cleaning, right?

Perhaps he should have done this sooner. But there’d only been a 50% chance Duck agreed to join him. In half his visions, the human politely declined, and spent his night simmering in discontent. 

A crunch of tires is in new fallen snow means he doesn’t even need to look at the futures to see Duck arrive. He has a minute before he reaches the door. 

He glances down at the eggnog stain on his pajama pants, and dashes into the bedroom to change them. Gets to the door two seconds before Duck knocks. 

The ranger lowers his hand, smiling gently, “Hey.”

“Hello. Apologies in advance for how warm it is in here.”

“Eh, visited you enough lately that I’m kinda gettin used to it.”

“Oh, good. That’s very good.”

(Why are there futures of them kissing? Where is that coming from?)

Duck steps into the trailer, shutting the door as Indrid heads into the kitchen. 

“So, what are we makin’?”

“Sugar cookies. I promised Barclay I would bring some to the potluck tomorrow. I have all the necessary supplies here.”

“Great, what recipe are we usin?”

Indrid looks at the pile of ingredients on the counter. His future vision told him which ones to buy, but isn’t of much use when it comes to predicting a recipe.

“You don’t have a recipe, do you?” Duck says with amused patience.

“No, I do not.”

“Don’t suppose you got any cookbooks layin around.” Duck opens the nearest cabinet, which contains solely Capri Suns.

“I may. I collected various books that seemed useful during my travels. They’re in that cabinet towards the front.”

Duck kneels down, begins searching through the cabinet and pulling out books. 

“‘Drid, how the hell are you fittin all these in here? The physics don’t make sense.”

“Mmm? Oh, most of the cabinets and the closet are enchanted to allow for more storage space.” He waves his hand distractedly, trying to parse out the warmth swirling in his chest at the use of the nickname. 

“Sewin’ guide, anatomy textbook, uhhhh maybe, nope, that’s a repair manual for the Bago. Didn’t know you worked on it yourself.” Duck leans further into the cabinet and Indrid spends a moment appreciating how his legs and ass look in his jeans before responding. 

(Probability of kissing jumps ten percent).

“I can do basic repairs. Though, at this point, my home is held together mainly by magic. And duck tape. A truly excellent human creation.”

“Not fillin me with confidence about the safety of drivin in this there, ‘Drid.” Duck teases. There’s rustling from the cabinet, though no further commentary.

The kissing futures jump even more. What on earth is happening? Yes, he wants to kiss his friend. But as far as he can discern, Duck does not want that, and it takes two for that fantasy to work. 

“Aha, got it.” Duck crawls backwards, proudly produces a red and white checkered cookbook, “Bettin this has what we need.”

“Wonderful!” Indrid claps his hands together as Duck flips to a page with a recipe for sugar cookies and hands it to him.

“Oh dear, I do not have a mixer, this is going to take…” He blushes at an oncoming future. 

“You also got a friend with chosen strength. Ain’t just good for savin the word.” Duck grins and flexes his arm. 

Indrid chirrs appreciatively, then catches himself, “Ahem, in that case, please beat this butter and sugar in that bowl while I measure out our dry ingredients.”

They set to work, side by side. The small kitchen means they bump into each other often, but neither seems to mind. In fact, Duck seems to be bumping into him more than usual. 

“How come you waited until now to make these?” Duck cracks an egg into the bowl.

“I didn’t mean to. But as you know, I can be easily distracted by watching futures or trying to stop them.”

“Coulda just bought some at the store in the mornin. Not that I mind helpin you.”

“I…you will think me silly if I tell you.”

“That what the futures show?”

“Half of them, yes.”

“Try me?”

“It has been a long time since I had any kind of connection to my fellow Sylphs. Let alone friendships with both Sylphs and humans. I want to demonstrate that I value those connections, make things to contribute to our time together. It is nice to belong, in a way, and I often fear losing it.”

“‘Drid, you know you don’t gotta earn your place with us. We all care about you. I care about you.” He takes Indrid’s hand from where it’s paused, mid gesture, and squeezes it once.

“Thank you.” Indrid sighs, decides to take the risk of his next words, “I’ve seen the end of things, so many things, so many times. I am used to it, in many ways. But there are times when I struggle to believe that the good things in my life will not be cut short in the same way.”

“I mean, everythin’ ends cause of time and mortality and shit like that.But that don’t mean good things are gonna disappear as soon as you find ‘em.”

Indrid smiles.

(Seventy percent of the timelines show them kissing.)

“Hey, goofus, I see you floatin off into the futures. Stay in the present with me, or I’m eatin all the cookies myself.”

Indrid grins, “ You wouldn’t dare.”

Duck grabs a nearby spoon and scoops out a bite of dough and chews it with an exaggerated “mmmmmm.” 

Indrid pouts and makes grabby hands, as humans call them. 

“Nope, this is all mine now.”

“Noooo, the raw dough is the best part.” Indrid grabs for the bowl, but in spite of being shorter than him Duck manages to keep it out of reach. 

“I’m savin you from yourself, you’re gonna get salmonella.”

“I am not, my Sylph biology prevents such a thing. You, on the other hand, can very much get that illness. So,” he lunges for the bowl playfully. Duck sidesteps him and he stumbles with an undignified chirp. Duck snickers and Indrid giggles 

“Okay, okay, I’ll give you some if you tell me one thing.” Duck sets the bowl back on the counter, blocking it with his body, “How come you have a bunch of drawins of me saved in your cabinet?”

“I, ah,” oh goodness, he should have seen this coming, “I save certain drawings if I like them.”

“‘Drid, those were almost all of me.”

“Because I like them. I like you. Seeing futures of you made me feel happy while I was away from Kepler.”

Ducks eyebrows slowly raise.

There’s no point in looking at the futures. Indrid has to do this in the present, has to face the reactions in real time, because that us always what being near Duck does to him; draws him back to earth, to the moment, over and over again because all he wants to focus on is him.

“I am very fond of you, Duck. It has been quite awhile since I had anything resembling a crush on someone, and my feelings for you have grown considerably in that direction. But I understand completely if it is not reciprocated.”

“That’s uh, that’s, fuck, uh-”

Indrid droops; if Duck is trying to lie, it must be to spare his feelings. 

“Um, I don’t, uh, oh fuck it.” 

Warm hands are suddenly on his upper arms as Duck pulls him into a kiss. Sugar and butter on his lips, strands of dark hair tangling in his fingers as he clasps Ducks head. It’s tentative, a tad awkward because of his glasses, and he never wants it to end. Whimpers when it does, and Duck simply smiles, bumps their noses together. 

“I was tryin to come up with some line about how I was surprised. But I ain’t, not really, especially not after findin those drawins. I been fallin for you for awhile, and was gettin the sense you might be doin’ the same. Just didn’t wanna push my luck and scare you off, sugar.”

Indrid grins.

“What?” Duck arches an eyebrow.

“I simply enjoy the nicknames you give me. Most of my aliases are attached to my sometimes unnerving appearance. It is nice to be called something new and sweet.”

Duck kisses him, first on the cheek and then snowflake-light on the lips, “Good to know. Now, c’mon, we can uh, cuddle, more once these are done and I need that real bad. So let’s finish these cookies, sugar.”


	9. Let There be Light (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested: any chance you could write some sternclay hannukah fic? as wholesome or naughty as you like

Joseph Stern does his best not to take personal offense at the existence of inanimate objects. 

But the “Merry Christmas” signs hanging down the entire main street of Kepler are on thin fucking ice.

He knows small towns tend to lean towards homogeneity. He knows that many municipal agencies treat Christmas as a non-denominational day celebrated by everyone.

The sign simply reminds him of being scolded by a grade school teacher for telling the other students that his family wasn’t visited by Santa, which suggested an inherent flaw in the idea of Santa’s existence. 

Or not being able to get the holidays he needed off of work during college, because those weren’t “real” holidays according to his boss.

Or not being allowed to have his mini T-rex menorah on his desk at the UP because it was a religious symbol and he worked in a government agency. 

He can’t shake the bad mood as he finishes his errands and heads back towards the lodge. Snow falls in clumps on his windshield as he pulls up in front, just in time to see Bigfoot and Mothman carrying a large pine tree into the lobby. 

Home sweet home. 

“Kay just, uh, hold it steady for a sec there ‘Drid.” Duck’s legs stick out from beneath the tree as he twists it into a stand, Indrid holding it upright while he does. Barclay sees Stern just as he slips on his bracelet, and by the time he’s kissing him he’s human again.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hi. Getting prepared for the season, I see.”

“Yep” Barclay grins excitedly, “finally found the perfect C-”

“Christmas tree, yes, I know, I’m Jewish, not oblivious.” Stern hears the bitterness, takes a breath and shuts his eyes, prepared to apologize for once again harshing others holiday cheer by reminding them that Jewish people exist. 

“No…” Barclay is making his worried-about-Stern face, “It’s the Candlenights tree.”

“Come again?”

“Did that plenty this morning.” Barclay bounces his eyebrows, and Stern rolls his eyes. 

“Candlenights is a winter holiday on Sylvain. It’s supposed to be a time of rest and warmth, of remembering that it’s alright to take time to focus on love and peace and comfort.”

“But that’s obviously a Christmas tree.”

Barclay shrugs, “You’re supposed to have a big piece of greenery as one of the decorations, a representation of the beauty of the land around you. Some families decorate a tree in their yard, or grow a flower bush specifically to use, stuff like that.”

“Mine had a blue mallow tree. It smelled like sugar. And the blossoms were delicious.” Indrid chimes in as he puts on his glasses.

“Is that why you put marshmallows on the tree in the apartment?” Duck brushes pine needles off himself.”

“Maybe.”

Barclay continues, “You decorate it with lights and flowers. And, well, the Christmas tree is a great way of having that tradition in the lodge without people wondering what the fuck we’re doing and asking too many questions.”

“So…Candlenights is tonight?” 

“It starts tomorrow. It’s kinda like Hanukah, but it lasts five days rather than eight nights. Each day centers around a concept: light, warmth, comfort, growth, love. Er, that’s the translation from Sylph, at least.”

“That sounds pleasant.” Stern smiles a bit, watches Hollis and Jake untangling strings of lights with varying degrees of success, “I’m, I’m glad you all are able to celebrate the way you did back home.”

“Me too. Uh, you know you can celebrate with us right? The lodge is your home too.”

“Thank you.” He kisses Barclays cheek and heads towards his room while the cook heads off towards the kitchen. 

It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the offer. And he’s actually curious about what’s essentially an alien cultural ceremony. 

But he wishes he had what he needed to observe Hanukkah. So that he could feel connected to his past, and his home, the way the Sylphs will tomorrow.

————————————————-

He’s up early the next morning, wanders out into the lobby with his coffee mug. It’s quiet save for the crackling fire and distant sounds of Mama in her office and Barclay in the kitchen.

The tree is lit with orange and white lights, and does look rather festive. 

But it’s something on the window near the tree catches his attention. 

It’s clearly supposed to be a serpent version of the Loch Ness Monster (Stern’s preferred version, given that the more popular pleisiosaur is the least likely of all explanations for the creature). 

And it has nine candle holders on it. 

“Happy Hanukah, handsome.” Barclay’s voice is a soft rumble in his ear as the taller man hugs him from behind, “Know it doesn’t officially start until tonight, but seemed like I oughta give you this ahead of time. Plus, it matches nicely with the first day of Candlenights.”

“True.” Stern murmurs, “Barclay this, this is wonderful.”

“Glad you like it. Had it made special.”

Stern turns in his arms, kissing him long and slow, not caring that the flour on his apron is now on Sterns shirt. He’s grown used to floury hugs and sugared kisses, Barclay stealing them from him in between moments at work. He wouldn’t trade them for the world.

——————————————-

The next day, Stern nearly has a heart attack when he opens his bedroom door.

“BUNNY SWEATER TIME!”

“GAH!oh, hello Aubrey. Doctor.”

Aubrey grins at him, while Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD, attempts to chew his way out of his small, black sweater, emblazoned with flames. It matches Aubrey’s own. 

“I didn’t realize you two, or, ah, three” he waves to Dani, “were vising from Sylvain.”

“Just for today and tomorrow. Dani needs to give Barclay his gift.”

Dani proudly hoists a thick, knitted sweater that reads “Kiss the cook.”

Stern pads into the lobby, finds it more active than the previous morning. Sitting by his menorah is a flat box, wrapped in silver paper. When he opens it, he finds a thick sweater, and braces himself. More than once has he been given a holiday sweater that was blatantly Christmas themed. 

This one, however, is a tasteful, dark blue with silver snowflakes and UFOs patterned across it. Stern pulls it on, finds it fits perfectly. 

“Looking good dude!” Jake calls from his position teaching Dr. Harris Bonkers how to play on a Nintendo DS. Stern settles on the couch, picks up his paperback from where he set it yesterday.

“Ah good, Barclay took my suggestion.”

“JEsus.” Stern’s unprepared for the red glasses poking out of a nearby pile of fabric.

Indrid answers the question before he asks it, “Electric blanket, a gift from Duck. Barclay was torn between that sweater and a Bigfoot themed one. I foresaw you liking that option slightly better. It suits you well.”

“Thank you.” Stern rubs the soft fabric, feeling deeply cozy, and settles in to read. 

That evening, he’s getting ready to light the menorah when he spots Barclays reflection beside his own in the window. 

“Can, uh, is it okay if I join you?”

“Of course.”

Barclay watches intently, listens as Stern recites the blessing. When Stern is done he joins his boyfriend in a large easy chair.

“There anything else you miss from, like, celebrating Hanukkah as a kid?”

“How do you mean?” Stern rests his head on his shoulder with a sleepy sigh,

“Well, back on Sylvain, there are these almost scone-like things, made out of honeyberries. They don’t taste like anything you get on earth. I smuggled preserved honeyberries through the gate every year around this time just so I could make some. Vincent never could turn down a Twinkie bribe to look the other way.”

“Sufganiyot. My mom always got them from a place called Greenbush back home.”

“Jelly doughnuts, right?”

“Yes. How did you-”

“Babe, do you have any idea how many cookbooks I’ve read? At this point I’m not sure there’s a pastry I haven’t heard of.”

“That…never occurred to me.” He yawns, unsure how a day of lazing by the fire can make him so exhausted (maybe it was having to prevent a talking rabbit and a seal disguised as a skater from lighting the tree on fire. Twice).

“Bedtime. C’mon, my little Sufganiyot”

“In what sense am I little-ah, hey!” Stern laughs as Barclay scoops him up in his arms.

“You’re ridiculous” He grumbles against Barclays chest.

“You love me for it.”

Stern nestles closer, “Very true”

—————————————-

The next morning, he steps out his door, only for the scent of sugar to draw him towards the restaurant. He can hear Barclay speaking from within the kitchen. 

“No, you can’t have any yet.”

“But, Uncle Barclay, look at how cute I am.” Dr. Harris Bonkers’ voice, if he had to guess. 

“Joseph gets the first batch.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s even cuter.”

Barclay steps out the kitchen door, plate in hand, and turns bright red.

“Oops, didn’t know you were up.”

“Dear, my alarm goes off at five every morning.”

Then he sees what Barclay is holding.

“Happy Hanukkah, babe.”

Stern grabs a doughnut from the plate and devours it in three bites.

“Please tell me you made more than two.”

“Aww, babe, glad you like ‘em.”

“I do. But, uh, that’s not why I said it.” 

He points to the restaurant door, where many more faces are peeking in, several licking their lips.

Barclay chuckles, “Whelp, better get frying.”

Stern grabs his usual apron from the near the kitchen door.

“I’ll help.”

Day four starts equally pleasantly, with him discovering a small, pleasingly round moss ball floating in a small aquarium sitting on his desk. The aquarium is decorated with a mini bigfoot figure and a mini FBI figure. 

“Dani suggested that for you. I know you like having plants on your desk, but don’t always have the best luck keeping them alive.” Barclay rubs his shoulders, kissing the top of his head as he sits at the desk. 

“I love it. Oh! Today is growth, right?”

“Yep.” Another kiss.

“Stay right here.” Stern rummages through the closet, pulling out the large, wrapped package he’s had for the last two weeks. 

“Merry? Candlenights, Barclay. I wasn’t quite sure when to give it to you, but today seems like the best choice.” 

Barclay unwraps the package on the bed, laughs delightedly when he sees what’s inside.

“Counter-top herb garden. Nice thinking, handsome.”

“You’re always saying how you miss not having fresh herbs to work with in the winter, so it seemed riiiight, oh lord, I, I have a phone call with Hayes in ten minutes, big guy, don’t start anything you can’t finish in that time.”

“Don’t worry,” Barclay rumbles from his new position kneeling on the floor, undoing Sterns pants as he kisses his stomach, “I’ll make real fucking sure you finish.”

————————————————————

It’s day five, and for the first time there’s nothing greeting Stern when he wakes up. He’s not terribly worried, and anyway he has to finish the briefing instructions for the new agents being sent to guard the inactive gate (his notes make no mention of the new, active gate a mile away).

Barclay joins him, as he has the last three nights, to light the menorah before heading back into the restaurant to feed residents and winter tourists. He busies himself with chores and crossword puzzles until Barclay is done with the night shift. 

When his boyfriend finally joins him for the night, he has his hands behind his back and a smile on his face that puts Indrid Cold’s to shame. Wordlessly, he hands Stern a box covered in gold paper. 

“That’s certainly a hefty package” Stern smirks as he opens it, then gapes at the contents.

“It’s, how, where did, did you _make_ this?”

“I had it cast so, uh, yeah? It’s for times when you get lonely, or like, have to go on business trips.”

“Lord, Barclay, they even got the color right. Do they even know that they were making a toy from the real Bigfoot’s co-”

“No, and I intend to keep that way. Now…” Barclay crawls on top of him, fingers working his pajamas off, “how about we break in your new toy?”

———————————————-

Stern rolls over in bed the next morning to see Barclay stepping out of the shower, towel around his waist. The Sylph notices him, comes to the bed to give him a kiss.

“Oh, here, wanted to give this to you before I go to work.” He holds out a small package, unmistakably the shape of a DVD box. Stern smiles excitedly to discover the entire X-Files series contained within it. Then he frowns.

“Wait, Candlenights ended yesterday.”

“Yeah. But it’s still hanukkah, right?” 

“Yes…”

“Babe, what did you think I was getting you those presents for.”

“I, well, I assumed you were trying to mesh my holiday with yours, so you’d only get me things during Candlenights-”

“You only give someone a gift on one day of that.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I just thought it would be fun to kinda tie my first five for you to Candlenights. Give you a taste of it without, like, pressuring you to be a part of it or making you give up something important to you. But I’ve had Hanukah stuff picked out for you since, like, September. And, uh, if there’s other stuff around it you wanna do or share with me, just say the word.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do that for me, it would have been easier just to do Candlenights. Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time my practices were overlooked, I could have handled it.”

“Because I love you, Joseph. I want you to be happy. When I told you the lodge was your home, and I meant it. And being home means having the space to celebrate things that are important to you.”

“You, I-” Stern shifts under the covers, feeling suddenly very vulnerable.

“Is my special agent speechless? Because that’d be a first.” 

“Yes, though the exact reason for it escapes me. Thank you, Barclay. For doing all this for me.”

Barclay nuzzles his cheek with a smile, “Any time, babe. And hey,” he tilts Sterns chin up so their eyes meet, “I love you.”

Stern’s smile is like a warm flame spreading across his face, “I love you too.”


	10. Hey, Neighbor (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14: The power goes out in our apartment building, but i’m not prepared for this, and you come to check on me

Duck’s playing his old _Tony Hawk_ game just for the hell of it when the power goes. Judging by the suddenly dark building out his window, it’s not just his building, but the whole block. 

He’s gonna go out on a limb and assume the huge-ass snowstorm has something to do with it. It’s only six p.m, but it’s so fucking dark his brain thinks it’s midnight, so maybe he can just go to sleep. Thank fuck the heat in this place is gas and not electric. 

Duck putters around, refills Taco’s water dish, and changes into his sweatpants and t-shirt, figuring he’ll read on his phone until bed.

There’s a clatter-crash above him, followed by a thud and the kind of curses someone makes when they’re alone. 

He takes advantage of living in an old building with thin walls and floors. 

“‘Drid? Everythin okay up there, man?”

All the scuffling ceases, then, “As much as it can be.”

Duck grabs the nearest sweatshirt and his keys, tossing another blanket over Taco before heading out the door and up the stairs. See, Duck is a guy with lots of soft spots. And one of those soft spots has “Indrid Cold” stamped into it. 

He barely saw the man the first year he lived here, though he heard him plenty. Footsteps at all hours of the night, music that either ping-ponged wildly between genres or stayed on the same song for the whole day, and only ever one voice to go along with it all. 

The first time they met, Duck nearly fell off his balcony. 

“ _Those look lovely.”_

_He drops the watering can, whirling to look up. An angular face with red glasses and a mess of silver hair peers over the edge of the railing above him._

_“Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I, ah, I just meant the plants are very nice. The rosemary in particular seems to be thriving.”_

_“Uh, yeah. Thanks. Uh, how long have you been watchin me?” He’s in a tank-top due to the heat, but was shirtless until a few minutes ago._

_“A number of weeks. Oh dear, ah, that sounds creepy. I just mean that I can see your deck from mine, and sometimes I end up watching it instead of focusing on my work. I’ve never seen so many pollinators come to such a small space; it’s amazing.”_

_“Huh.” Duck tongues his cheek, not sure whether to be flattered or alarmed._

_“Do you want a Capri Sun? They’re cold.”_

_He chuckles, “Sure, why the hell not? Send one down.”_

_There’s a plastic thunk and then a beach pail comes down on a rope to deliver his drink._

In spite of that odd start, he and Indrid started talking more, to the point the other man would come down and sit on the balcony while Duck gardened or Duck would sit in Indrids chaotic apartment and read while Indrid did tarot card predictions over the phone. During those five months, he discovered Indrid is a disaster magnet; broken glasses, a broken-into car, an almost broken ankle due to slipping in the first frost of the season. Hence his trip upstairs, just to be sure nothing is wrong. 

He knocks, gets a “come in,” and cannot see the other man anywhere. And the apartment is freezing.

“Bedroom!” Indrid calls from down the short hallway. Duck shuts and locks the door, picks his way over crumpled drawings to find his friend no more than a pile of fabric on a mattress on the floor with an unplugged trio of space heaters pointing at him. 

“You want me to turn the heater up?”

“You can’t. It’s broken. The repair man was supposed to come this morning but had to cancel because of the roads.” Indrid’s face appears from a black blanket. 

“Shit, you got no way to heat the place? My little hand-power radio says this might last until tomorrow mornin.”

“I was afraid of that.” Indrid sighs, “I’ll just hope that the blankets are enough. The bang you heard was me tripping over the one I was wearing as a shawl.”

Duck holds out his hand, “Or you could come a floor down where there’s a workin heater, goofus.”

“I, ah, suppose I could. I won’t be in your way?”

“Just don’t take Taco’s blankets and we’ll all survive the night. Grab whatever you need for the night and I’ll meet you down there.”

As he tromps down the stairs, he reassures himself that he’s just being neighborly; he’d check on anyone in the same circumstances. But his heart still bubbles with excitement when he thinks of Indrid in his house in the snow-covered darkness. 

He’s pulling all the blankets from the closet when the door opens and shuts. Even with his heater working, they’ll need to bundle up. 

“I’ll just put my things by the couch.”

“Works for meAH, what the fuck?” He pulls his foot back from where a box narrowly missed landing on it. Minor scare aside, he can’t think of anything better to fall from the sky. 

“Hey, you like s’mores?”

“…Yes? Though I feel like a campfire, while tempting, is ill-advised.” The other man is perched on the couch, fidgeting with his sweater sleeves. 

Duck shows him the box, “Got this at a white elephant swap at work last year and never used it. Supposed to make it so you can make s’mores inside. Wanna try?”

“Absolutely” Indrid tears into the box and begins setting up what looks like a fondue pot’s long-lost cousin, retrieving the matches from their usual spot on the counter while Duck finds the marshmallows, a half box of graham crackers, and left over hershey minis from Halloween. 

“Is having s’more supplies on hand a requirement of being a ranger?”

“Trade secret” Duck plops down across from him, the flames adding an eeriness to Indrid’s features that does nothing to Duck’s desire to take his hand and hold him until he’s warmed through. 

Indrid makes it through four s’mores in the time it takes Duck to eat one and a half, and is licking his fingers in a painfully appealing way when he muses, “Should we tell scary stories? I understand that goes hand in hand with roasting marshmallows.”

“Havin some summer camp flashbacks?”

“No. I never went, which was probably for the best. I’m not sure accident-prone children with glasses do so well in such places. Though I was always curious about kayaking.”

“Can take you in the spring if you want. There are lakes in the park where it’s allowed. Could even paddle out to Floating Island if you wanted to draw.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Indrid smiles, “I almost finished the drawing for Jane, it will be ready in time for Christmas.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid.”

Indrid licks molten sugar off his fork and Duck searches for a distraction from the way his tongue moves.

“You ever hear the story of the hook-handed man?”

“What?”

“It’s an old camp story. You seriously never heard it?”

“I’ve heard references to it. Now I want the full experience.” Indrid leans in attentively. Duck does his best, but it’s not quite s scary when you’re in an apartment with three locking doors between you and the outside world and the only place a murder could hide is in the closet Duck was just in. Indrid doesn’t jump at the ending, but he applauds, 

“My turn?”

“Go for it.”

“Hmm. Ah, okay, once upon a time, there was a lonely artist who lived in a barren land. Every day he would sit and stare at an oasis of green, but he could not get too near. Until, one day, the caretaker of the oasis invited him in. The artist felt so happy when he was there, the caretaker was one of the nicest men he’d ever known. And the, ah, the artist wanted to know if, if he would, ah, like to go out with him. Maybe tomorrow?”

It takes Duck’s mind two seconds to catch up with what just happened and in those seconds Indrid looks increasingly like he’s going to bolt out the door.

“Not much of a scary story.” Duck teases gently. 

“I’ll have you know I am terrified right now.”

Duck links their fingers, “No need for that, darlin. I’d love to go out with you.”

They could re-light the whole block with the power of Indrid’s smile. 

“In the meantime” Duck snuffs the flame on the table, “let me keep you warm?”

Indrid tugs him into an embrace, kissing his cheek with an excited hum and laughing when Duck chases his lips for a proper, tender kiss, “Of course.”


	11. Shopping (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 29\. i should’ve done my shopping a month ago but now i’m running around last minute and when i enter your store, i’m absolutely frazzled. help me.
> 
> (Pinecone is borrowed from harrisonator’s fic “Monster Mash”)

Working at Kepler Petco isn’t the worst thing, even during the holiday shopping hellscape months. It’s not like anyone is getting in fistfights over cases of Fancy Feast. Which is why, on the 22nd of December, Duck is unprepared for the sudden sound of hands on hitting the countertop. 

“I need help.” The guy’s about his age, silver hair going patchy black near the top, pink and white striped sweater around his neck and a massive sweater hanging off his lanky frame. His red glasses barely conceal brown, anxious eyes. 

“Sure, what’re lookin for?”

“Rat treats, the kind that won’t make them ill.”

“Can handle that, right this way.” Duck leaves the counter and leads the guy back to the small mammal section. As they go the man spins a ring on his index finger, flushing under the merciless heating vents. 

“I’m sorry for the dramatic entrance. I have a mountain of things to do today and your store closes first.”

Duck glances at the AKC branded clock on the wall, which shows 12:30 p.m, “We close at five.”

“Yes, I know, but I really cannot overstate how behind I am on my Christmas shopping. Or, well, holiday is more accurate, since Joseph celebrates Hanukkah, which means I’m already late on that.” He sighs, runs a finger with chipped black nails through his hair.

“Big family?” Duck points to the row of snacks, grabs the man a basket from the end of the aisle when he starts piling them into his arms. 

“Lots of friends. We’re having a party tomorrow and I completely forgot about it until today. I know it’s ridiculous to forget about a holiday where you can’t turn around without being slapped with a reminder of it, but my brain doesn’t always work in the way I’d like it to.”

“No judgement here. Once forgot my sisters birthday until the minute my mom asked if I could get some candles for the cake after school.”

“Oh dear.” The man smiles, the expression shifting from odd to shy when Duck meets his eyes, “thank you for your help.”

Five minutes later the guy heads towards the register, then stops, backtracking to the display of rats, mice, and hamsters. Duck joins him in case he has questions, and to steal another look at his singular features. They’re not handsome on the surface, but something about them draws his eye back over and over. He’s just in time to hear the man cooing to a pair of brown rats.

“…so lovely, aren’t you just charming? If I could I’d take you home but space is limited. Oh” he blushes when he sees Duck, “I’m, ah, ready to pay now.”

“One of your friends got rats?” He indicates the pile of treats the man is buying.

“Hmm? Oh, no, these are for Luna and Emperor, my rats. I wanted to get them presents too.”

Duck can’t decide if the fact the guy prioritized spoiling his pets on the day he had to buy a bunch of gifts is adorable or worrying.

“As I said, I came here because you close first. And I, ah, I like spoiling them. It’s nice to know exactly how to cheer another living thing up.”

“I get that. Pinecone, that’s my, uh, my cat, gets more treats a month than I do.”

“Someone ought to buy you a few, then.” The man murmurs, handing over his debit card. 

Duck, caught up in the mechanics of fighting with the card reader, doesn’t realize he’s being flirted with until the man is no more than a silver head merging into the throng outside. 

He’s lowkey annoyed with himself the rest of the day; he’s been in the market for a cute guy, and while his mystery shopper may not be Ryan Gosling, but Duck wouldn’t mind getting his number. 

Since he opened today, he gets off at three, decides to swing by Crate and Barrel in case the apron he thinks Barclay might like. There’s small hallways dotted through the mall, leading to exits or to backrooms. As he passes one, he gets a glimpse of silver hair and a vibrant scarf. That’s the only good part of what he sees; the man from earlier is pressed close to the shiny wall, trying and failing to get his breathing order.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

He jolts, registers who’s speaking, and looks at the ground, “N-not really. I, part of the reason put this off so long is I can get incredibly overwhelmed in crowds sometimes, and yes I know that makes coming here three days before Christmas even worse an idea but I thought maybe I could handle it, but I’ve only managed to buy two of the gifts I need because I cannot focus with everything going on and, and I’m sorry, here I wanted to charming around you and now you’ve seen this and-”

“What would help?”

“I, I’d like to go somewhere quiet, but there’s nowhere, even the bathrooms are packed.”

“Do you, uh, want to come sit in my car for a bit? I can run the heater so we don’t freeze.”

“That’s really alright?” The question is so small and vulnerable he wants to tuck it into a shoebox to keep it safe.

“Yeah. C’mon, I’m parked on this end.” 

It’s snowing on and off as they walk to his car, and as he gets it running and turns on the heat his passenger finally pulls his clenched hands from his pockets; one holds a fidget cube, the other a very small, plush moth.

“I tried so hard to prepare for every possible future.” Is what he gets as explanation. The man sets both items in his lap and shuts his eyes, breathing slowly in and out. Duck says nothing, opens his phone and plays two rounds of Plants vs. Zombies before he hears anything at all from beside him. 

“Would you mind turning the radio on, at a low volume?”

“Any requests?” Duck hits the power button.

“No talk radio.”

“Can manage that.” He fiddles around and finds the alternative station. Even it has Christmas songs interspersed with the usual mix. 

“Is your name really Duck?”

He wonders if the guy is omnipotent until he remembers his nametag.

“It’s a nickname.”

“I’m Indrid.” He opens his eyes, “thank you for letting me come here to calm down. I may actually manage to succeed in my quest now. It’s so hard, I actually enjoy being out around the lights, the feeling of so many people being happy or trying to do kind things for each other. But it’s easy to get overwhelmed, especially when I’m alone.”

“Would it help if you weren’t?”

“Possibly, but I couldn’t ask you to spend even more time in that mall given you work there.” 

“Got some last minute shoppin to do myself. Besides, if you get stuck on a gift, I’m pretty damn good at comin up with ideas.”

“Thank you.” Indrid smiles, excited, and that settles it: Duck is asking for his number after this.

They brave the crowds and the holiday cheer blaring across the speakers once more. The first stop is a store selling housewares, including a pair of small succulents that Indrid deems worthy of giving a friend as he listens to Duck talk about his part time job at the National Forest, laughing when Duck mentions last weeks run-in with a pissed-off migratory bird. 

The next few stores are no help, and they opt to take advantage of the lull between when people are done with school and when people are done with work to hit up the coffeeshop, Indrid ordering a white chocolate peppermint mocha and promptly getting whipped cream on his nose. Duck is tempted to kiss it off, settles for handing his new friend a napkin while he talks about his recent return to Kepler after traveling around the country in a Winnebago, selling his art at shows. As luck would have it, the store has a shelf devoted to artisan or local coffees, and they’re each able to find one for someone on their list. 

Macy’s proves more treacherous, and once five o’ clock hits even Duck is feeling cramped. Indrid is tensing, his replies getting short or far off, and just as Duck is about to offer to dip out again, chilly fingers link with his own.

“Is this alright?”

“Better than alright.” He grins and Indrid holds tighter, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth as Duck guides them into a less crowded corner. The do eventually find some high quality hiking socks that Indrid buys, only letting go of Duck in order to pay. 

They reward themselves with dinner at Johnny Rocket, Duck hopping over to Indrid’s side of the booth to see pictures of Emperor and Luna, and show off the photos he has of Pinecone hiding under his ranger jacket. 

“One more stop, thank goodness.” It’s going on seven and Duck has to say he agrees; he loves being around Indrid, but his feet are killing him and he’s had “Jingle Bells” stuck in his head for an hour. 

Indrid’s last item is at Crate and Barrel, and Duck laughs when the other man goes straight to the aprons. 

“You got good taste, I’m gettin’ one of these too. Barclay said he needed a new one.”

A fine-boned hand freezes mid-reach, “Did you say Barclay?”

“Yeah?”

“I am also buying this for a Barclay. Is your Barclay, by chance, dating someone named Joseph and hosting a party tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

They stare at each other, frozen long enough that another shopper passes between them. Then they double over in sync, Duck wheezing out a laugh while Indrid cackles. 

“Holy shit, we’ve been shoppin for the same folks!”

“Barclay mentioned there’d be new people at the party but I never thought one of them would be such a catch.”

Duck gets his breathing in order, steps across the faux-hardwood and takes Indrid’s hand.

“Hey, Indrid? You wanna be my date to the party tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.”

“….wait, fuck, which one of us is gonna give him the apron?”

“You can, I have another idea for him. Consider it an early present from me.” Indrid tease. 

“Sugar,” Duck slips his hands into Indrid’s back pockets, smiling up at him, “you might just be all the present I need.”


	12. Late Night (Danbrey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 53\. your scream woke up the entire building because you’re so damn excited about the first snow fall and i’m going to give you a piece of my mind except you’re really cute

The shriek wakes Dr. Harris Bonkers up first; it’s his manic sprint about his cage, overturning his food dish and sending Aubrey out of the desk chair in which she fell asleep while definitely, totally, for sure studying for these finals. 

“What the fuck?” She looks at Dr. Harris Bonkers. Dr. Harris Bonkers honks, enraged by the noise.

She gets the crummy dorm window open enough to see a figure on the lawn in front of the building, jumping up and down with glee. The green jacket and rose-colored beanie obscure any relevant details save for the fact they’re a rude, loud jerk. 

Dr. Harris bonkers honks again, thumping his back feet and darting into a cardboard box in his cage, nose wiggling worriedly. 

“That does it.” She zips up her boots, grabs her coat and tromps down stairs, prepared to give the person a piece of her mind for frightening the rabbit.

The sound of boots on snow makes the figure turn in the pool of streetlight. Blonde hair falls past her shoulders, her beautiful, perfect face is covered in freckles, and Aubrey can’t remember what she’s mad about.

“Hi?” The blonde waves with a confused, but still friendly, expression. 

“Hi.” Aubrey can’t make her fingers work

“Did you need something?”

_Your number?_

She waves away the thought long enough to speak, “oh, um, yeah. I, um, heard you screaming and came down to see what was wrong.”

“Ohmygod” Mittened hands cover her mouth, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think I was that loud.”

“I mean, you might not be? Dr. Harris Bonkers is the one who heard you, and he has big ears.”

“Is that your…boyfriend?”

“My bunny. I’m in a single and snuck him in the first week of the semester. If my RA’s noticed, he hasn’t said anything, so I think I’m in the clear and, um, yeah. He knocked his dish over.”

“Oh no, poor thing. I, uh, I didn’t meant to scare anyone. I just got so excited over this.” She waves her hands through the air.

“Nighttime?”

“No, silly, the snow. It’s the first snow of the season and I’ve never been in the snow before.”

“Like, never ever?” Aubrey turns her eyes to the sky, watching the flakes pirouette to the ground. 

“Nope” the other woman sighs, “It looks just like it does in the movies, don’t you think? All pure white and blanketing the plants and rooftops, reflecting the lights, making the whole world seem peaceful. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Aubrey watches her upturned face, the snowflakes catching in her lashes and her nose. 

“It really is.”

The other woman rubs her arm, shyly, “sorry, didn’t mean to ramble.”

“It’s okay, I ramble all the time, about all kinds of stuff, there’s just a lot to think about and look and um, look at, did I already say that?”

Right, she rambles when she’s nervous, too. 

A laugh, brighter than a firework, “Glad to know I’m not alone. I, uh, should probably go back to my room, but do you want me to come apologize to Dr. Harris Bonkers first?”

“Yes, I very much want that. I’m Aubrey” she holds out her hand and the blonde takes it.

“Dani. Lead the way, Aubrey.”

Two minutes later Aubrey unbundles herself as Dani crouches on the floor, offering her hand to the skeptical rabbit. 

“I’m sorry, that noise must have scared you and you were just trying to keep Aubrey safe by waking her up. Oh, hi there.” She giggles as a fuzzy head emerges from the cage, sharp little feet resting on her knees as the rabbit headbutts her hand.

“Aww, it’s nice to meet you too.”

Aubrey practically has hearts for pupils as she looks at them.

“Do you, um, want some tea? I have a little stash for when it gets cold.”

“I’d love some. Uh, aren’t electric kettles not allowed?” 

“Technically? No, no they’re not. But what’s life without a little excitement? Besides, the only way this shorts out is if he eats it and exposes the wires.”

“No cords for you, young man.” Dani rubs the rabbit’s ears, making him whirr his teeth in contentment. 

They chat about their respective majors (Dani is plant sciences, which Aubrey knows very little about but that’s okay because it means she gets to listen to Dani explain new, interesting things) and the perils of dorm life. 

“Honey?”

“Yes?” Dani looks up at her and Aubrey blushes.

“Um, I meant for the tea.”

“Oh” Dani’s blushing now too, two adorable rosy spots on her cheeks “yes please.”

Aubrey hands her a heatproof mug as she joins her on the floor. 

“So, um” she taps her sparkly orange nails on her cup, “are, um, are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

A sigh, “I’ll be in the air, heading home for break.”

“Aw beans.” Aubrey sips her tea, trying not to be too disappointed, drops her other hand to her knee. 

Dani reaches over, setting her hand over Aubrey’s, “we’ll be back in two weeks. And, uh, if you want I can give you my number.”

“Oh my god please give me your number.”

Another laugh and Aubrey’s sure the roots of her hair are going to catch fire. 

“Sorry, I haven’t had anyone that eager to get to know me in awhile. It’s nice. You’re nice.” She leans forward.

“You’re nice too.” Aubrey mirrors her, and then their noses are touching. 

“Pass me your phone?”

Aubrey fumbles it from her pocket, unwilling to sit back and lose contact. Dani must feel the same, because she plugs her number in while still resting against Aubrey.

“I should get back, I have to get to the airport pretty early tomorrow. Long travel day.”

“Okay.” Aubrey starts to move, only for Dani to peck her cheeks, her nose and, fleetingly, her lips. 

“Something to look forward to.”

“Uhuh.” Grins at her. 

“I’ll text you soon, I promise.”

Aubrey walks her out, waves goodbye as she heads across campus. Gets Dr. Harris Bonker’s settles and surrenders the battle with her textbooks for tonight. Just as she’s pulling the covers up, her phone lights up.

_Dani: Got back safe._

_Lady Flame: Sweet. Sleep tight, cutie._

_Dani: You too, fireblossom. Talk to you tomorrow._


	13. Gift (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16\. we didn’t read the invitation that said this party was formal so we’re in our ugly christmas sweaters

Duck’s fully prepared for Aubrey, and maybe even Mama, to tease him for his Newton family christmas sweater. When he gets to the Lodge to find everyone dressed swanky, he thinks it’s some sort of elaborate prank. He decides to ask Barclay, since he tends to be less invested in pranks than the others. 

“Uhhh” Barclay points to a stray invite, “it said formal, see? We thought a change of pace would be fun.”

“Fuck. I just came straight from a family thing, didn’t think it’d matter.”

Barclay pats his shoulder with a warm smile, “Don’t worry about it, man, it’s not like anyone’s gonna toss you out for it.”

Duck grumbles something about not wanting to stick out as he turns, and spies an even uglier sweater across the room. It’s bright green and fire-engine red with, covered in old-school colored bulb christmas lights, blinking like fireflies. 

Somehow, it suits Indrid perfectly.

The Sylph waves when we spots Duck, coming over to join him by the drinks table. 

“Hello Duck, I’m glad this is the future where you’re here.” He ladles himself a mug from one of the two crockpots of eggnog. 

“Howdy, ‘Drid. Glad I ain’t the only one who went for the ugly sweater vibe.”

Indrid cocks his head, “This is the nicest thing I own.”

Duck groans, reaches up to hide behind a hat that isn’t there.

Indrids smile widens, “I’m joking. It was a, ah, what do always call it…ah yes, a goof.”

He laughs, relieved, “Jesus, you got me good.”

“It’s payback for the time you convinced me that squirrels were carnivorous.” 

Duck snickers at the memory of Indrid, in his moth form in the woods, eyeing the squirrels warily. 

He joins Aubrey, Thacker, and Dani by the fire, and Indrid wanders over, taking a seat next to Duck when the human scoots over to offer him it. Thacker talks about the library and the regrowing cities, and Indrid’s face turns wistful. Duck suspects only he can see it, Indrid’s glasses showing enough of his eyes from the side to make emotions clearer. 

(Indrid always sits across from people. The last few times they’ve met up, he sits next to Duck).

In spite of only some gentle ribbing about his clothes, he keeps picking at the sleeve of the sweater. It’s a little itchy, and he could have worn that nice green shirt with the pine tree tie that he likes. And every time he catches a glimpse of himself in a window, he’s back in space, watching an evil hivemind recreate it’s pattern on a mimic of his sister. 

“Is it bothering you a lot?” Indrid murmurs.

“N-no, uh, I, uh, just, fuck, it’s nothin,” He stops talking, flees Indrid’s red stare to refill his cider. He pauses to talk with Kirby and Ned, is looking around the room for a new spot to sit (and for Indrid), only for a tan hand to wave him into a hallway. 

“Here, try this.” Indrid ties a discarded gift ribbon around his wrist, and he’s no longer looking down at the wool sweater and jeans. He’s in a deep gray suit, with a green shirt and a silver tie. 

“Holy shit. Wait, do I look-”

“-different? No, I left your physical form intact. I can make disguises of different magnitudes. A simple clothing swap is easily done. And I, ah, I did not want you to spend a night with friends lost in frightening memories.”

Duck’s about to thank him when the words sink in. 

“There was a future where you told me. I, ah, you’ve mentioned what you saw at Reconciliation before, but not that detail.”

“Wasn’t scared so much as pissed.” Duck glances at his shoes, now well-shined loafers. 

“Understandable. And useful; the odds were not in your favor, believe me. But well-timed anger can change the course of fate. Just as choosing mercy–even when others urge for violence–can. Punching me also reset fate rather dramatically.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Indrid’s smile is small, and stunningly fake, “It was for the best. I’m going to get some more nog. Would you like some?”

“Nah, still gotta finish this. But I do wanna try some of that salmon dip.”

“In true bear fashion.” Indrid’s smile turns genuine when Duck snorts and elbows him. 

They talk and mingle with their friends, Indrid making frequent returns to the nog bowl. Duck steps outside for air, comes back and spends a moment watching Indrid by the fire. Stern notices him, steps away from an animated conversation with a ghostly Boyd about art forgery to join him. 

“Quite the dapper costume change.”

“Thanks. ‘Drid did it for me.”

Stern follows Duck’s gaze, then casually sip his wine, “Have you told him yet?”

“Told, uh, told him what?”

“Duck, you spend more time with him than almost anyone else.”

“Half my friends live on another planet now.”

“And every time you look at him, your smile changes. His does too. According to Barclay, he talks about you like you’re the most fascinating thing on earth. Right, love?” He kisses Barclay’s cheek as the cook joins them.

“Yep.”

There’s a crash as Indrid loses his balance and knocks over a lamp, which Aubrey freezes mid-air.

“Shit, he’s hammered.” Barclay sounds surprised. 

“How much rum did you put in the nog?” Duck doesn’t remember the sip he had from Indrid’s cup tasting that strong. 

“I made two batches, one with booze and one without. Indrid was drinking the non-spiked one earlier. Wonder when he switched.”

“About the time Duck changed clothes.”

“…How did you not catch us durin the Pine Guard days again?”

Stern smiles, “Barclay can be very distracting when he wants to be. And none of you have ever asked exactly how much I worked out.”

He has a point. As does Barclay when he points out that Indrid should have someone take him home after the party.

When Duck offers him a ride, Indrid chirps excitedly, bonks his forehead on the roof of the car, and climbs in. By the time they get back to the ‘Bago, Duck knows he can’t just leave Indrid here.

“You’re staying?” Indrid bounces on the bed as Duck turns on the space heaters. 

“Just ‘til you sober up. I’ll stay out in the main cab so you can sleep.”

Indrid lets out a chirr that intensifies when Duck slips the ribbon from his wrist. It almost sounds perturbed. 

“I mean, uh, I can go if you really need me to.”

Indrid shakes his head, barely managing to get his shoes off before burrowing under to covers, “Please stay as long as you want.” 

Duck nods, excuses himself to use the bathroom, and comes back to Indrid chirp-snoring into the pillows. He’s such a cute, weird man. Duck will just sit down a second to make sure he doesn’t wake up and need something. 

The one small seat is taken up by a binder, which opens when Duck lifts it. Instead of the expected paper avalanche, he finds drawings, each in their own plastic slip. He flips through it as he settles in the chair. Interspersed with the drawings are papers labeled in one or two two words of Sylph, and Duck reverse engineers their likely meanings from the images that follow them. The section with all the plants and animals must be “nature,” the one with parties and state fairs “events.” There’s even a section that’s all elements of winter holidays; the Rockefeller tree with decorations that suggest the 1930s, a menorah in a window, candles on the table of a house that’s seen better days. Towards the back is a section that has to be “friends.” There are one or two people who appear in images with Indrid. Including the kind that make Duck quickly turn the page. The further he gets in that section, the more familiar faces he sees; Barclay, Aubrey, Jake, Ned. 

He sees himself, returning from saving the world, battered but alive. 

_“The odds were not good”_

Tucked at the very back of the section, between the final empty pages and the binder, is a folded paper. Curious, Duck opens it. 

It’s him. With Indrid. They’re on Indrid’s tiny bed, kissing.

God that looks nice. 

Startled by his own thoughts, he tucks the picture back into the binder and sets the whole thing on the floor. Decides one of the paperbacks strewn on the floor is a better way to occupy himself then accidentally finding more personal images. 

——————————————–

The world is ending, everything is ripping away into the sky, everything he’s fought for is gone. He failed. He didn’t want a destiny, and he’s failed the fucking thing anyway and it’s all gone and there’s no future for him now but to be torn into ash-

“Duck, Duck wake up” 

He jolts, whams his head into the wall of the very intact Winnebago at the edge of the still standing Monongahela while a very alive, now-sober Indrid leans over him. 

“Owfuck.”

“Oh, oh no, I’m sorry, you were very clearly having a nightmare and I figured you’d like it to stop.”

“Yeah” He rubs his head, “yeah I did. Thanks. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Given that in many futures our positions were reversed, I don’t have a lot of room to complain about someone shouting in their sleep.” Indrid sits down on the floor next to the chair, stays silent as Duck coaxes his breathing to even out. A hand hesitates in the air, then touches his arm, rubbing it reassuringly. 

No one else saw it. Not even Minerva or Leo, the only people who could understand the horror of seeing a thing unfold with scant chances of stopping it. 

Indrid’s hand brush lightly over his own before returning to his arm. 

“Indrid, can I ask you somethin?”

“Of course.”

“The day we let The Quell through and saved the worlds did you, uh, did you see what woulda happened if Aubrey hadn’t blown the gate apart?”

“Yes.” The reply is quiet.

“Do you, uh, still see it sometimes?”

“Now and then, but I have far more bad timelines in my mind, and more failures in my past, for my nightmares to draw upon than you do. That is half the reason I drank so much tonight. Around the time of the winter solstice, my nightmares increase in frequency and intensity, Sylvain only knows why. Sometimes substances dull that.”

“Oh, ‘Drid.” Duck turns in the chair. Indrid’s gaze stays straight ahead, but his fingers shred a nearby scrap of paper. 

“The irony is, I love this time of year on Earth, in spite of the chill. I love the winter holidays, the gathering of warmth and light to hold one over until the spring returns. But my enjoyment of it is dampened by the workings of my powers and mind.”

“Fuck, guess I oughta count myself lucky I only got a few bad visions to remember.” The joke falls flat, and Indrid glances at him. 

“That vision is nothing to laugh at. I’m glad you had it all the same, glad you triumphed and survived.”

“Woulda really sucked to accept my destiny only to fail at the last fuckin second.”

He shuts his mouth to stop the next thought from escaping; Indrid doesn’t need to know that he sometimes fears that everything he’s done and wants to do now that fate is no longer hanging a talking sword over his head will somehow be hollow.

“You were so much more than your destiny, Duck Newton. You still are.” 

The sincerity, half-obscured in shadow and red lens, is too much. He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything at all. 

“Guess, uh, guess you likin the holidays explains that section in the binder.”

“Yes. Wait. Did, ah, did you look through the whole thing?” Fear slips into his voice. 

“Uhhuh.”

“Even the, ah, the last page?”

“Yep. Some real beautiful drawin’s in there. Some mighty interestin ones too.”

Indrid nervously taps his fingers together, “Since you are about to ask, that future took place shortly after the cottonwood. You, you came by to apologize for punching me and to tell me you were glad I was alright and, and ask me to stay in Kepler and when I asked why, you did that. Just one little kiss. That’s as far as I got before the timelines changed. It’s, it’s alright, of course, that’s how timelines work, and you did eventually apologize.”

He did, two or three separate times, and each time Indrid brushed it off, insisting it was what needed to be done.

Duck sinks to the floor, turns on his knees to bring them face to face. 

“What are you-” Indrid stiffens as Duck gingerly pushes up his glasses. He’s never seen Indrid’s face like this, uncovered but still human, and it takes all the air from his lungs.

“Which eye did I hit?”

Indrid touches the right side of his face. Duck tips forward, balancing his fingers on Indrids thighs, and kisses the corner of his right eye.

“There. Now it’s a real apology.” He whispers in Indrid’s ear, close enough that faint, hopeful chirps reach him. He moves a few inches down and over, lips the barest strip of air away from Indrid’s own. 

“You, you don’t have to. Just because something appears in a future doesn’t mean it’s fated to happen.”

“What if I want it to happen?”

Indrid surges forward, cupping Duck’s face. His kisses re feather-light and sweeter than nectar, and Duck wants to drink them down, knows that after this taste he’ll never be full. 

“Duck I, h, I want” Indrid clings to him, his words turning to chirps and clicks, overwhelmed by a little kissing.

“Want me to keep, uh, ‘apologizin?”

“So very much.”

“Then take me to bed, darlin.”

The instant they hit the bed Indrid pulls Duck atop him, fingers fawning over his body as he kisses him over and over. When they stop to catch their breath, Duck remembers something,

“‘Drid, what was the other half of the reason you got drunk?”

“A problem of my own making. I did not foresee just how you would look in your suit, and I was trying to avoid an, ah, embarrassing bodily response. Alcohol helps my kind of Sylph in that regard.”

Duck chuckles, nips Indrid’s lower lip, “want me to put it back on?”

“Not just yet.”

“Want me to kiss you ‘til we fall asleep?”

“More than I’ve wanted anything for Christmas in a long time.”

Duck kisses him, keeps teasing their lips together as he murmurs, “then consider me your resent, darlin.”


End file.
